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George and his Engine 


Page 15 





Leaves and Fruit. 



Bt 

M. E. &IFFITH, 

AUTHOB OF “boys AT EASTWICK.” 




PHILADELPHIA : 

PEESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

1334 CHESTNUT STREET. 



'll 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 

THE TKUSTEES OP THE 

PEESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




Westcott & Thomson, 
Stereotypers and Electrotypers^ Philada, 




CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PAOE 

In the Mill 7 

CHAPTER IL 

The Interview 28 

CHAPTER III. 

Two Lessons 46 

CHAPTER IV. 

Susan 67 

CHAPTER V. 

Christmas Preparations 80 

CHAPTER VI. 

Edith in Danger 101 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

Mr. Warrington’s Story 

CHAPTER VIIL 

Temptations - 

CHAPTER IX. 

Geimpses of Character 178 

CHAPTER X. 

Jane Skinner’s Party 200 

CHAPTER XI. 

School-days 213 

CHAPTER XII. 

Boys 23-5 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Sam Baker’s Visit 257 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Fast and Slow 277 

CHAPTER XV. 

George a Hero 295 


CONTENTS. 5 

CHAPTER XVI. 

PAGE 

Susan’s Service 311 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Susan’s Fall 333 

CHAPTER XVIH. 

The ‘End 356 






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Leaves and Fruit. 


CHAPTER I. 

IN THE MILL. 

“ Study to show thyself approved, a workman that needeth 
not to be ashamed.’^ 

T is nothing to you, George Savage, 
how much work I get done in a day. 
There’s precious little paid for it at 
the end of a week, anyhow. I think 
Mr. Wolberton gets enough out of me at the 
worst.” 

‘‘I don’t see as that has anything to do 
with it. You were anxious enough to get 
the job at these wages. If you don’t mean 
to come up to the mark and do what you 
promised, you ought to go and say so, and 



8 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


not be slipping off to play whenever you get 
the chance.’’ 

'' I’ll just mention it when I get to be a 
saint like you. I’m going to do as much 
work as I think I ought to for the pay ; 
and if Mr. Wolberton gets any more out of 
me, he’ll be smart.” 

I suppose it’s no use to talk to you, but 
the good book says, ‘ Whatsoever thy hand 
findeth to do, do it with thy might.’ ” 

“ Of course ; I was waiting to hear some 
Scripture. You never get more than three 
words out without it.” 

George turned quickly away from his com' 
panion, Samuel Hart, and walked to his place 
in the engine-room of the factory, as he 
heard the whistle sounding for one o’clock, 
the time for the afternoon work to begin. 

It was an immense woolen factory in which 
the two boys were employed. Samuel Hart’s 
work was in the sorting-room. This was a 
large square room with a counter around the 
wall, at which rows of girls stood and ex- 


IN THE HILL. 


9 


amined finished stockings. The perfect ones 
were put aside by some, while others gathered 
them and placed them in bundles of a dozen 
each. It was Sam’s duty to carry these 
bundles to the storing-room, where they were 
piled away upon shelves for that purpose. 

Sam was a good-tempered sort of lad, 
pliant enough to do right or wrong accord- 
ing to the influence brought to bear upon 
him at the time. He meant to be indus- 
trious, but the sight of a handful of marbles 
was sufficient to dispel the best resolutions he 
ever made. 

A small open space outside of the mill en- 
closure was the favorite playground for the 
boys whenever they were out of work, and 
it cost Sam many a struggle to pass by the 
well-known holes that looked so inviting for 
a game even when there was no one to share 
it. You can imagine, then, what it cost him 
to hear, My shot ! Hold on ! Fen puts !” and 
the other well-known cries of the marble- 
players. The next armload of stockings 


10 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


that was carried up stairs required a long 
time to put away if one might judge from 
the time Sam was absent. 

George had been Sam’s confidant about 
the jolly fun he had been having so slyly, 
and this led to the rebuke we have just 
heard. Sam was more affected by the re- 
proof than he would have been willing to 
own, but his laugh was derisive enough to 
hide his shame effectually, and George went 
to his place feeling rather disconsolate. 

His work was in the engine-room, where 
he waited upon the engineer and now and 
then took his place, all the time carefully 
watched and directed in his movements by 
the master-hand. 

The engineer was a grim, silent man, and 
words of praise were very rarely upon his 
lips, but toward George Savage he seemed 
to change his entire nature. The boy was 
most unattractive in his personal appearance, 
short and thickset, with a face so stolid in 
expression you could hardly believe he was 


IN THE MILL. 


11 


scarcely fifteen years old. Yet to Andrew 
Blakeman, the engineer, he was the embodi- 
ment of all that could be desired in the way 
of boyish perfection. George won Andrew’s 
heart at first by knowing how to keep silent — 
a rare quality in a hoy. Then he showed him- 
self so trustworthy, and lost no opportunity 
to improve in every part of the work that he 
was permitted to undertake, that Andrew 
would say, There never was such an old 
head on such young shoulders.” 

George looked out of spirits to-day as he 
began his work, for Sam’s mocking laugh 
would sound in his ears, and he took himself 
to task for having interfered with the boy, 
for fear it might look as though he were set- 
ting himself up to be better than he was. 

Andrew watched his favorite for §ome time, 
quite conscious that something was amiss, 
but he had his own way of getting at the 
difficulty, and it certainly was not by coming 
to the point and asking about it. 

Here, stir your stumps, my lad, and get 


12 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


on a little better! If there's anything I 
can't stand, it's this habit of poking." 

George felt angry for a minute, for he 
knew the charge was unjust, but with the 
second thought he reminded himself that it 
was Andrew's way " and really meant very 
little ; so he tried to go on with more dili- 
gence, thinking to put him in a good humor. 

“Well," grunted Andrew to himself, “he 
ain't in the stubborns. I don't know what 
is the matter. I wonder if he's sick ? He 
oughtn't to be working this way if he ^*5." 

But Andrew's meditations were cut short 
by the entrance of Mr. Wolberton, the pro- 
prietor. 

He was a small, delicate-looking man, quite 
unlike anything that one could imagine as 
the head of such a flourishing business-house. 
His face was almost feminine in the delicacy 
of its outline, and his eyes had a dreamy, far- 
away expression in them that was strangely 
at variance with the whirl and noise of the 
machinery in its busy round, banishing the 


IN THE MILL. 


13 


poet in his dream of idleness, and ushering 
in the hard-handed sons of toil. 

But for these mills Mr. Wolberton would 
have been a dreamer. His education and in- 
clination both tended to it, but the mills 
were a family inheritance for many genera- 
tions ; and when he' found himself sole pos- 
sessor, something of the old family ambition 
to keep up their reputation made him assume 
the management of them. At first it was 
very irksome to him, yet he attended per- 
sonally to the management in spite of this. 
Though there were plenty of foremen, yet he 
never yielded to the disposition to delegate 
his authority to them, but made himself ac- 
quainted with the hands employed, so that 
deserving ones might be advanced as occasion 
offered. 

“ Well, Andrew,’’ he began, “ I suppose 
you have heard that the night- work com- 
mences next week ? What are we to do for 
an engineer?” 

“ I was a-thinking of that myself, sir. I 


14 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


know one as / wouldn’t be afraid to trust if 
it was me bad the saying of it, but I ain’t 
noways sure yov!d think the same.” 

have enough confidence in you,” was 
the reply, ‘Ho be quite satisfied with your 
recommendation. Who is it ? I must attend 
to it at once.” 

‘‘ My boy George, here.” 

“What, George Savage? Oh no, An- 
drew ; that won’t do at all. You must re- 
member the lives of several hundred people 
are in question. I must have an experi- 
enced engineer.” 

“ I Icnowed you wouldn’t take what I said,” 
grumbled Andrew. “ Where was the use of 
asking my advice ?” His long services seem- 
ed to authorize Andrew to use a familiarity 
of expression that amused instead of dis- 
pleasing Mr. Wolberton. 

“ I did not expect such advice as this from 
you,” rejoined the proprietor. “I could 
never have anticipated that you would think 
a hoy suitable for such a post.” 


IN THE MILL. 


15 


“Don^t s’pose I would if he was a bit like 
a boy.” 

All this time George was busy rubbing 
up the engine ; and with its whir in his ears, 
and the habit he had of minding his own 
business, too, he caught no word of the con- 
versation that was carried on so near him. 

To be sure you don’t know,” Andrew 
went on to say, that he runs this injine by 
hisself most of the time.” 

‘‘ I am surprised at that,” was the answer, 
‘‘but of course you are here to watch and 
instruct him, and that makes a great deal 
of difference.” 

“ Don’t see as it makes so much. I can 
run this thing, but I never made no inven- 
tion about it, and that’s what he’s done 
twicer 

“ You surprise me,” exclaimed Mr. Wol- 
berton. “ Explain what it is that he has in- 
vented.” 

“ Hum !” said Andrew to himself as he 
shuffled round to the other side of the en- 


16 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


gine; “I’d a better kept my tongue still. 
He’ll take him now, I s’pose, and I’ll get 
some young scalliwag in his place that will 
worry my life out.” 

The investigation showed Mr. Wolberton 
that, whatever might be disputed about the 
boy’s mechanical genius, the inventions were 
the evidence of more good common sense 
than is usual in boys of his years. 

“ Tell him to come to Willow Glen this 
evening,” said the proprietor as he left the 
engine-room. 

The boy caught the last words, and he had 
seen his work undergoing examination, so 
that the door was hardly closed before his 
delight burst forth. He did not guess just 
what was in store for him, but he thought it 
meant praise, and he knew what a rejoicing 
it would be to his mother. 

“Oh, Andrew, what does he want with 
me ?” 

“ I s’pose you’ll be satisfied to get away 
from my growling. I don’t know as I’ve 


IN THE MILL. 


17 


done a wise thing, though, or whether it 
will be the best for you^ 

‘‘What is it, Andrew? Tell me, won’t 
you r 

“You’ll know soon enough, and so will 
I, for the matter of that, if you blow up 
the whole concern some of these fine even- 
ings.” 

“ It’s not true, surely, that I’m to run for 
the night- work ?” 

“ You’ve about guessed it,” was the retort. 

“How good you are, Andrew! Won’t 
mother be glad ? We’ll get on now like 
everything this winter.” 

“ I thought you was talking so much about 
going to night-school this winter ? You ain’t 
commenced yet, have you ?” 

The boy’s face clouded as Andrew spoke. 

“ No ; I was to begin to-night,” he said. 
Then, with a great effort, “ I can study at 
liome in the afternoon.” 

“ Just what I should think,” retorted An- 
drew. “ You’ll do it while you’re asleep, 


18 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


won’t you? People that runs injines all 
night don’t study much in the day-time.” 

“ But you know I won’t need to sleep all 
day. I think I ought to do something.” 

You needn’t reckon on that, now, I can 
tell you. You’re young and strong; just 
you do your work while you’re at it; and 
there’s no use to go speculating about wak- 
ing up and being bright enough to do any- 
thing at book-learnin’. Take my advice, and 
don’t put too many irons in the fire at once ; 
some of ’em is sure to do damage.” 

George laughed, but the prospect made 
him feel very happy and able to accomplish 
almost anything ; and his mind was already 
busy with schemes for study and plans for 
making his mother more comfortable than 
she had been any winter before. 

He forgot all about Sam Hart and his an- 
noyance. 

When the whistle gave the warning for 
six o’clock, the time to quit work, George 
made his preparations to go home with a 


IN THE MILL. 


19 


lighter heart than he had known for many 
days. It would make them all so happy to 
hear the good news. 

The little house to which we will follow 
him was one of the most uninviting of a long 
row of brick tenements that had been erected 
for the factory operatives. Three young 
children were on the doorstep watching for 
him. The eldest, a girl about ten years old, 
was lugging an infant of two. The poor 
child was held so tightly and uncomfortably 
that it was a wonder that any breath was 
left in the little body by the time she reach- 
ed George’s arms. 

The father had been dead for nearly two 
years, and in that time George had been 
compelled to take his place and try to sup- 
port the family. He was the eldest of five. 
Next to him was a girl of thirteen, who was 
already employed in the factory. She ought 
to have been a great help to her mother, but 
she was a vain, silly child, and the compan- 
ionship of girls older than herself, who were 


20 


LEAVES ANE FRUIT. 


carried away with a love of finery, soon had 
its effect upon Susan. During the busy sea- 
son she earned very good wages, and then it 
seemed very hard to her to give it all to her 
mother and not to be able to obtain some 
long-coveted article of dress. In vain her 
mother reasoned and reproved. Susan seem- 
ed to be given over to hardness of heart. 

George saw it all with the greatest grief, 
and it had the effect of making him the 
more earnest to get on. To be able to take 
his sister out of the associations she was too 
weak to withstand and provide something 
better for his mother was now all his thought. 

The baby was struggling to be in George’s 
arms, and as he reached to take it you might 
see the little foot hanging helplessly down, 
showing the child to be the victim of hip- 
disease. 

Halloa, Molly !” he cried as he seated her 
lovingly on his shoulder, and then, followed 
by Annie and James, hurried on to the 
house. 


IN THE MILL. 


21 


The door opened into what was the best 
room. A rag carpet, gay with bright bits of 
wool from the stocking-loom, covered the 
floor. Three wooden chairs and a settee were 
ranged around the room, while a small ma- 
hogany table, with its red and black cover, 
held the children’s treasures of Sunday- 
school gifts and library-books. Over this 
table hung a looking-glass, surmounted still 
by its ornamental fly-paper, a faded remin- 
iscence of the previous summer. 

‘‘Where’s mother? Hasn’t Susan come 
yet ?” were- George’s questions in one breath 
as he found the kitchen empty. 

“ Here’s Sue coming in the back way. 
Mother’s up stairs,” said Annie. 

Satisfied that he should have them all 
there in a few minutes to hear the good news, 
he put little Mary upon the floor and went 
out to the pump to wash and get ready for 
the evening meal. 

Susan was in a bad humor, and began to 
scold the children as soon as she came in the 


22 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


house. Her work had been done carelessly, 
and the forewoman had not been sparing in 
her reproof over it, so that Susan was ready 
to spend her own anger upon anything that 
came in her way. 

Poor Mrs. Savage looked worried and 
vexed too. Constraint and discomfort settled 
upon them all. George had been full of his 
good fortune, but everything looked so for- 
bidding that he felt little encouragement to 
speak of it. James cried because he could 
have no butter with the molasses on his bread, 
and Susan gave him a smart slap to make 
him silent. This brought a reproof from the 
mother, whereupon James quieted down, feel- 
ing that Susan was getting the worst of it. 
George was tired and annoyed, and had thus 
far eaten his meal in silence. 

He wanted to push back his plate and get 
away from the table, but his mother’s trou- 
bled face brought him to a better state of feel- 
ing, so he swallowed his vexation and began 
to tell her the good news. Her tears of de- 


IN THE MILL. 


23 


light were a sharp rebuke to him for having 
let his temper get the mastery so far. Only 
Susan was displeased at it. 

Things just seem to drop into your 
hands/’ she said. ‘‘I’d never get promoted 
if I stayed there till I was as old as Methu- 
selah.” 

“ But you do well enough as it is,” said 
George, good humoredly. “I’ll hurry up 
and get the promotion, so that you won’t 
have to work much longer. Girls oughtn’t 
to have to work away from home.” 

“ You needn’t tell me anything like that,” 
said Susan, discontentedly. “I believe in 
girls being independent. I’ll not be behold- 
en to any brother for my keep. Do you 
think I’d stand it to have him telling me to 
go here and to go there, and to do this and 
wear that? Not if I know myself I 
wouldn’t.” 

The dress was the sore point to Susan, for 
many a time had George remonstrated about 
the bright ribbons and gaudy flowers that 


24 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


detracted so much from the innocent fresh- 
ness of her pretty face. 

George hid his vexation as he answered, 
‘‘ We’ll see when the time comes. How I 
wish I were a man !” 

“ I thought,” said Susan, still willing to 
vex him, she hardly knew why — ‘‘ I thought 
you were going to night-school this evening ? 
You said the other day you were bound to 
do that, for you would never get on much 
further without a good deal more education. 
I don’t see that you need be bragging so 
much over this promotion if it’s likely to 
be the last. You can’t run that engine and 
go to night-school too, that’s certain.” 

“ I know it,” said George, sorrowfully, 
but I don’t mean to give up studying, for 
all that. I’ll try to do something by myself 
in the afternoons.” 

If you’ve so much time, you’d better be 
trying to earn a little more money. If it 
was me, there’d he a fine fuss about wasting 
time. You fool over a lot of books and 


IN THE MILL. 


25 


don’t make anything out of ’em, as I can 
see, but only just let me want to trim a hat 
or fix up a dress, and there’s no end to the 
talk about the wicked waste of time and 
money.” 

‘‘ You won’t understand it, Susan. If you 
only would study with me, and not care so 
much for what the girls say about your 
clothes, we’d all get on better.” 

No, I thank you ! But I guess yoic 
won’t do much studying if you stay up all 
night at work.” 

Maybe not,” said he, slowly, but this 
won’t last for ever. By next winter I hope 
to do something better.” 

That’s right, my son,” said the mother. 

We can truly say, ‘ Hitherto the Lord 
has helped us.’ ” 

‘‘ The same old tune,” muttered Susan to 
herself as she got out of the way. “ Preach- 
ing and praying is about all that gets done 
in our house. I wish I could get off to the 
circus to-night. If mother heard me say 


26 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


that, I expect she’d think the earth would 
open and swallow me. Other girls do as 
they please and spend their money as they 
like. George is going to get so much more 
now I ought to have all my money to dress 
with. I’ll tell them Saturday night that I 
mean to have mine.” 

While Susan was laying her plans and 
washing up the dishes, Mrs. Savage was 
hunting out George’s Sunday clothes and 
doing everything to make him look neat and 
clean for his interview with Mr. Wolberton. 
With it all, only a mother’s partial fondness 
could have seen anything prepossessing in 
the homely face before her. 

I’m always sure of having one person 
in the world to believe in me,” he said as 
his mother gave his necktie another turn to 
suit her critical eye. 

She kissed him fondly, while the ready 
tears came to her eyes as she thought of all 
the comfort he gave her in the midst of her 
poverty. The strong contrast between his 


IN THE MILL. 27 

affection and Susan’s indifference made it all 
the more apparent. His mother followed 
him down stairs and stood in the doorway 
looking after him in the darkness, as though 
her vision might carry her to the interview. 
She longed to see how her boy would con- 
duct himself, and whether Mr. Wolberton 
too would discern how good and honest and 
true he was. In her mind there could be 
no doubt that every piece of good fortune 
that came to George was only another proof 
of his superiority to others. People would 
discover it for themselves, she thought, and 
then advancement was the inevitable result. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


“ In the morning sow thy seed.” 



WOLBERTON was seated in liis 
comfortable library, surrounded by 



all the luxuries that wealth guided 
by good taste could devise. 


It was early autumn, and the glowing 
anthracite in the open grate dispensed pleas- 
ant warmth, while the softened light from 
the shaded argand cast a delicate glow over 
the apartment. Books lined the walls and 
large portfolios of rare engravings stood 
temptingly open. 

Everything was refined and luxurious; 
and if happiness consisted in the abundance 
of the things which one possesseth, Mr. Wol- 
berton might have been envied. But his 
face told plainly to-night that care was not 


28 


THE INTERVIEW. 


29 


driven away even by these much-coveted 
accessories. He was roused from his reverie 
as a joyous voice called out, 

“ May we come in now, papa 
His face relaxed at once when a bright 
little girl of eight or nine came into the 
room, closely followed by a boy of fourteen. 

In a few minutes more Mrs. Wolberton 
joined them, and the family circle was com- 
plete. 

As the lady seated herself in her favorite 
arm-chair Max suddenly called out. 

That’s it, mamma ! Now, don’t move an 
inch. I want to make a picture of you. 
Please don’t,” he added, more earnestly, as 
she was about to lean forward for a book. 

‘‘ I am afraid you will keep me a prisoner 
for the whole evening. Max dear, and I shall 
get very tired.” 

But if you read, mamma, it will alter the 
position of your head.” 

You won’t get tired if papa talks to 
you,” said Edith, looking comically at her 


30 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


father. ''Do keep still, that's a darling! 
Max promised to make the picture for me. 
I know he’ll do it beautifully.” 

It was a very unusual circumstance, but 
Mr. Wolberton took no part in this conver- 
sation, and did not even seem to hear his 
wife saying. 

Don’t trouble papa, Edith. He must be 
tired.” 

Max looked anxiously at his father for a 
moment, but the attractive position his 
mother had taken still charmed his eye, and 
he began to sketch. 

Edith pushed a chair close up to the 
library-table and climbed into it, resting 
upon her knees. Her elbows supported her 
chin while she gravely watched the progress 
of the drawing. Now and then she would 
venture to disapprove when Max would rub 
out lines and put them in with a patience 
that was by no means common to his ordi- 
nary performances. 

Mr. Wolberton watched him steadily all 


THE INTERVIEW. 


31 


the time, until his wife began to think that 
she read the secret of his clouded counte- 
nance in some misdemeanor of which Max had 
been guilty. Max was ever brimful of fun 
and spirits, but Edith was almost his sole 
companion at home, so that he was hardly 
likely to have been in any serious mischief 
with her. He had only recently begun to 
go to school, so there might be something 
wrong there. Heretofore his education had 
been conducted at home by a private tutor, 
but Mr. Wolberton was greatly dissatis- 
fied with his progress, and determined to ex- 
cite his emulation by school companions. 
Whether he had any reason for thinking 
that this too was a failure Mrs. Wolberton 
had not yet learned, but the boy himself 
showed no disturbance of mind, and she 
knew her son well enough to be confident he 
was in no disgrace for mischievous deeds, or 
he could not seem so comfortable. 

A servant now entered and announced 
George Savage. 


32 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


‘‘ Let him come in here/’ said Mr. Wolber- 
ton ; then to his wife, who was about to leave 
the room, he added, 

“Don’t go, my dear. It is not private 
business.” 

“ I will come back presently,” she said, and 
disappeared. 

“ There ! while mamma is gone you can 
shade this old castle for me,” said Edith as 
she pulled a small portfolio from the stand 
near her and produced a half-finished sketch 
of Ehrenbreitsteiu. 

Max took it listlessly, and gazed at George 
Savage, who was making an awkward saluta- 
tion to Mr. Wolberton. 

Since Edith’s earliest recollections Max 
had amused her by drawing. Her own little 
hands had no skill beyond the favorite rep- 
resentation of her doll Clara. But Max, 
what could he not do ? In her mind he was 
a genius of the highest order, equal to any 
effort, and she would gravely propose sub- 
jects for his pencil, or commend his success 


THE I^^TERVIEW. 


33 


as tlioiigli there could be but one opinion 
about it. 

Now he sat toying with his pencil. Edith 
followed the direction of his eyes, and soon 
began to be interested in the conversation. 

“ You are not afraid, then, to undertake 
this engine by yourself?” said Mr. Wolberton. 

No, sir, if you will be kind enough to 
trust me,” answered George, feeling some- 
what less awkward, though he could not yet 
tell what to do with his hands or help seeing 
that his feet looked very big and coarse and 
generally in the way. 

‘‘ I have worked pretty carefully with 
Andrew Blakeman, sir,” he went on to say, 
and I guess I’ve studied the engine about 
ever since I could walk.” 

Yes, I dare say,” was the rejoinder ; ‘‘ but 
now you will have the lives of a great many 
people at your mercy. Do you think you 
will always have a sense of that responsi- 
bility in your mind sufficiently to keep you 
watchful? I should be justly blamed,” he 

3 


34 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


said, as if thinking aloud, ''if anything 
should happen. Yet as Andrew says you 
do not act like most boys of your years, I 
am inclined to give you a trial. Be sure you 
do not disappoint me.’’ 

George thanked him and made a motion 
to go, but Mr. Wolberton stopped him, saying, 

" Have you ever been to school ?” 

" Yes, sir, a little,” was the hesitating an- 
swer. 

" Ah !” thought Mr. Wolberton, mistaking 
the manner, "he is not willing to own his 
ignorance. I had some hopes of getting hold 
of another George Stephenson whom I could 
help on a little.” 

He was making no further attempt to de- 
tain him, when a gleeful exclamation from 
Edith drew his attention upon his own chil- 
dren. The laugh was suppressed in an 
instant when she found attention was drawn 
to them ; but Mr. Wolberton, seeing the de- 
light was over the drawing at which Max 
was at work, said. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


35 


‘‘ Let me see the drawing, my son.” 

The boy looked up, saying, reluctantly, 

“ It’s nothing, father.” 

“ Yes, but I want to see the ‘ nothing.’ 
When George is learning to be a scientific 
engineer some of these days, it won’t do for 
him to make his drawings after such mod- 
els as these,” said Mr. Wolberton, rising to 
reach the drawing, which he supposed was 
Edith’s favorite castle, that Max had had in 
hand so long. 

Please do not take it,” said Max, in a 
kind of terror. 

Mr. Wolberton took the paper in his hand, 
and George looked on wonderingly, though 
he could make out nothing of the drawing 
at the distance. He would have liked very 
much to know what the picture was like, and 
how it could have any connection with his 
getting to be an engineer. 

“ It isn’t well done,” he thought as the 
father’s face grew stern. He would have 
divined some other cause for the displeasure 


36 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


tliaii want of skill if he could have looked 
over Mr. Wolberton’s shoulder. 

It was a well-executed likeness of George 
in all the exaggeration of a caricature. The 
picture was a sturdy bulldog seated very 
uncomfortably upon his hind legs, dressed 
in the most preposterous shirt collar and 
absurd little necktie. He was curiously 
eying his fore paws, which he seemed to dis- 
cover for the first time (now that he was in 
a new position) to be very troublesome ap- 
pendages. The whole expression of the face 
was striking enough in its likeness to George 
to be unmistakable anywhere. 

Edith had been alternately watching 
George and the sketch, and even to her 
childish eyes it was quite evident that their 
visitor would be very happy to be safely out 
of the room with the interview over. You 
can easily imagine how natural was her scream 
of delight at the joke when Max drew a 
long line coming from the dog’s mouth, upon 
which he wrote, I’m dog tired of sitting 


THE INTERVIEW. 


37 


up this way. Won’t you please to let me 
out?” 

As Mr. Wolberton looked over the paper 
his face never relaxed its sternness for one 
moment. He examined every line of it most 
carefully, and then, walking to the grate, he 
laid it upon the glowing coals, where it quick- 
ly vanished. 

George sat still, wishing himself safely out 
of it all ; and yet, not feeling that his em- 
ployer had dismissed him, he waited uneasily 
for what was to follow. 

Taking up the old castle, Mr. Wolberton 
showed it to George and tried to discover 
whether he had either taste or talent for 
anything of the sort. But the boy was so 
painfully embarrassed by what had just hap- 
pened that he was more than ever shut up 
in his shell of reserve, that seemed like an 
excess of stupidity. 

Presently, Mrs. Wolberton came back; 
and of course, unconscious of what had ta- 
ken place, she was better able than any one 


38 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


present to banish the constraint and set them 
all to talking freely. She had heard some 
mention of George from the pastor, Dr. 
Burrough, who came over from Coopers- 
town to preach every other Sunday. 

Church-work occupied a very small por- 
tion of the thoughts of the Wingohocken 
people, so that the good old doctor never 
failed to single out any one who showed more 
than the ordinary interest. George had 
been so very earnest in his attendance at 
church and in the Sunday-school that the 
doctor had recommended Mrs. Wolberton to 
find out more about the boy and see wheth- 
er anything could be made of him. 

“ Dr. Burrough tells me you are deeply in- 
terested in the public night-school,” she said. 

How is it you are not there ? I thought it 
had begun.” 

Yes, ma’am,” he answered. ‘‘It begins 
to-night, but I sha’n’t be able to go. Mr. 
Wolberton is going to give me the night- 
engine.” 


THE INTERVIEW. 


39 


But do you not think/’ said the lady, 
that the chance of education is more to you 
than the advance of wages? for I suppose 
that is what the change of work does for 
you.” 

“ It would be, ma’am, a great deal more if 
it wasn’t for mother and the children, but I 
shall not be able to do all they need even 
with this much money, so of course I oughtn’t 
to put away the chance.” 

This led to inquiries from both husband 
and wife, until by degrees they drew from 
George enough of the history of the Savage 
family to show them very plainly that the 
boy before them, perfectly unconscious that 
there was anything either wonderful or 
especially praiseworthy in it, was living a life 
of entire devotion and self-sacrifice to those 
he loved. 

It was easy for these people to see his 
eager thirst for knowledge and the pang that 
it cost him to give up his chance to gratify 
it that winter. They purposely led the con- 


40 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


versa tion that way ; but after the first few 
words they found it difiicult to make him 
talk of it. Indeed, he set himself resolutely 
to think and speak of Susan and the life of 
toil that w’as before her. 

AYith an instinctive chivalry he felt that 
it was his duty, if possible, to save her from 
it, yet the task looked more than he could 
perform when he thought of the difficulties 
her temper and disposition would put in the 
way. 

He glanced at the bright face of little 
Edith, who watched him so attentively. She 
was not so pretty, really, as his own sister, but 
how much more charming she appeared ! 
The soft folds of her blue merino dress and 
the dainty white ruffied apron, from both of 
which Susan would have turned away in dis- 
gust as being entirely too plain to be hand- 
some, made George sigh for the nameless 
something — he could not put it to himself in 
words — that would make his sister look and 
be like the child before him. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


41 


He had the dim feeling that the factory 
was in some way to blame for it, and as Mr. 
and Mrs. Wolberton talked on to him of 
school and learning, bright visions of all he 
might do for mother and Susan and the rest 
came back to him with so much force that, 
for a moment, he almost felt that it would be 
better to let go this chance of earning more 
money for the higher chance that would 
come with a little more waiting. 

‘‘ You say you want to study in the day- 
time,” said Mr. Wolberton. That will be 
rather uphill work after doing your duty at 
night. Who will be your teacher ?” 

“ Nobody, sir. I’ve been doing a little 
something all along by myself. I bought 
a copy-book with the writing at the top of 
the page to show me how to do it, and every 
night before I go to bed I write my task of 
ten lines. It used to be I couldn’t do any- 
thing but print, but I get on very well at 
the writing now. It’s very far from looking 
like the copy, but then that’s my own fault. 


42 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


If I keep on long enough, and take pains 
every time, Dr. Burrough says I can do as 
much for myself as any teacher could do for 
me.” 

That’s all very well,” said Mr. Wolber- 
ton, and shows you are in earnest about 
wishing to improve, but that is not real study. 
Is that all you do ?” 

‘‘ I am afraid that is all. I was very anx- 
ious to speak correctly. I was looking over 
Sam Hart’s books one day while he was 
going to school, before he came to the mill, 
and he had a grammar. The first thing I 
saw on the first page was, ‘ Grammar is the 
science that teaches us to speak correctly.’ 
That was just what I wanted, so I saved all 
the money I could spare to buy a book. I 
couldn’t make anything out of it, though. 
I asked Sam Hart what they did at their 
school to learn it, and he said they just 
studied it by heart and said it off to the 
teacher. I’ve been trying to do that ever 
since last winter, sir ; but I am very stupid. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


43 


I think. IVe only learned twenty pages, 
and I can’t make head nor tail out of them. 
I can say it off just like it is in the book, 
but that’s all.” 

Mr. Wolberton smiled, but he looked 
deeply interested, and was about to say some- 
thing to lead him on further to talk of himself 
when Max, who had been looking worried 
and uncomfortable ever since the drawing 
had been destroyed, burst out eagerly. 

Grammar isn’t so hard when you once 
get into it. I’ll show you all I know about 
it if you like.” 

Mr. Wolberton turned hastily toward his 
son before George had time to reply, and 
said. 

There is another of your freaks ! How 
long do you suppose you would keep it 
up ?” 

George felt more disturbed than ever as 
he again saw himself, in some unaccountable 
way, the cause of unhappiness between father 
and son. He was perfectly silent, for he 


44 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


could not tell what was the right thing for 
him to say, but he wished most heartily that 
he had not gone on to talk of himself in the 
way he had been doing. 

“ I’ll keep it up as long as George wants 
me to,” was Max’s answer, rather hesitatingly 
given. Indeed I will, father,” he added, 
more earnestly. I can be trusted this 
time. I don’t suppose he’ll want much that 
/can do for him, though, if he studies that 
way. He’ll know as much as I do before 
many lessons.” 

‘‘ If I thought you would not make him the 
victim of your vacillating ways, I should be 
very glad for you to do it,” said Mr. Wolber- 
ton, ‘‘and I suppose George will not make 
any objections to such a teacher.” 

George could hardly take it in that he 
was to have such advantages, and his voice 
grew husky as he thanked them warmly for 
their kindness. 

He was glad, however, to get away and hur- 
ry home to talk it all over with his mother. 


THE INTERVIEW. 


45 


After promising that he would come and 
begin his lessons the next week, he made 
another awkward attempt at thanks, and 
finally succeeded in saying ‘‘Good-night” 
and getting away. 


CHAPTER III. 


TWO LESSONS. 

“ Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” 

N a large and handsome upper room 
overlooking one of the principal thor- 
oughfares of Philadelphia we find 
Max Wolberton seated on Saturday 
morning of the next week. Everything 
around him betokened an artist’s studio — 
here and there an easel with a half-finished 
picture upon it, fanciful bits of drapery over 
plaster casts, and pictures scattered in hope- 
less confusion. 

Max was alone. He had an easel before 
him, and in a suitable light was an ara- 
besque in plaster that was evidently intended 
for his work, from the few lines already on 
the paper. But Max was far away in 
spirit from the study before him. He 

46 



TWO LESSONS. 


47 


leaned idly on his hand and watched the 
busy throng in the street, though he did not 
seem to be taking in what he saw there. 

Suddenly the dreamy eyes relaxed their 
absent expression, and a bright, joyous peal 
of laughter echoed through the apartment, 
while he eagerly watched the scene below. 

On a narrow street that opened directly 
opposite his windows an oysterman had 
stopped his cart and was making a tempting 
display. A youth of about Max’s age had 
come into this street from the rear of one of 
the large business-houses, and stood beside 
the cart in a sheepish kind of way, evidently 
intending to have some on the half shell, 
and like the famous Mrs. Gilpin, 


“ Though on pleasure he was bent, he had a frugal mind.” 

Yet though his appetite had thus far 
overcome his pride, he sent many cautious 
glances around, lest he should be observed 
taking his enjoyment in such unseemly 
fashion. 


48 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


This was funny enough to Max, who read 
the thing at a glance, but there was more to 
come. Behind a huge packing-box that 
nearly filled that part of the narrow side- 
walk a small mite of a girl was peeping out 
to take a survey of what was going on. She 
watched the youth with a grave face that was 
extremely comical in such a little child, and 
as oyster after oyster was opened and handed 
to him her mouth opened and closed with 
each one he swallowed, as though she too 
were having a feast. 

At last the youth caught sight of his 
small imitator, and the haste with which he 
paid for his repast told very plainly that he, 
at least, did not find the same amusement in 
it as Max did. By such a lover of the lu- 
dicrous as our young friend this was not to 
be passed over. His task was forgotten and 
the scene reproduced with a fidelity that 
would have done credit to an artist. So 
absorbed was he in his work that he was not 
aware of any presence until a hand was laid 


TWO LESSONS. 


49 


upon his shoulder, and he was startled to 
hear, 

‘‘What is this. Max? Not the work I 
gave you ?” 

Max colored deeply and the tears came 
up into his eyes. He did not answer for a 
minute lest he should be unmanly enough 
to cry. 

“ Do forgive me, Mr. Warrington,’’ at last 
he said. “ I did not think it was so late. I 
saw these funny things in the street, and I 
wished you to see them too. I meant to do 
the other work, indeed.” 

Mr. Warrington make no reply, but stood 
looking at the sketches with all the artist’s 
admiration of the crude skill he saw there. 
Then, dashing them upon the floor with an 
impatient gesture, he turned to Max : 

“ I cannot scold you. I wish I could ; 
it might do something for you. Nothing I 
can do or say in the way of entreaty seems 
to reach you. You don’t know it, boy, but 
you have the rarest of all gifts — ^genius. I 


50 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


may study for tlie rest of my life, but I can 
never produce what you have done in your 
hours of idleness this morning. Isn’t that 
enough to make you ambitious? I cannot 
make you out,” he added, more angrily. 
“ Day by day you are sacrificing all this 
God-given power for want of a little appli- 
cation. You will never make an artist, 
you will never be anything or do anything,” 
he said, growing more vehement, unless you 
are willing to take some trouble. The 
work I gave you this morning could be done 
thoroughly by the merest beginner. All 
your power avails you nothing. Go home 
and read the parable of the talents, and see 
what account you will be ready to give.” 

The old man walked nervously about the 
room, pushing back a picture here and draw- 
ing others to light there in an aimless sort 
of way that told plainly how little he knew 
what he was doino;. 

Max drew out his easel again, and amid 
blinding tears that would fall and make huge 


TWO LESSONS. 


51 


blisters upon the paper he went silently to 
work. 

Mr. Warrington was tenderly attached to 
the boy, and the sight of his tears gave him 
pain. He turned over his portfolio of 
sketches, taking himself to task all the time 
for his severity, until he was persuaded that 
it was very unnecessary to trouble the boy 
thus ; he would feel his own power before 
long, and that would be sufficient stimulus. 

Max kept on industriously at his work un- 
til Mr. Warrington came up to examine it. 
The blistered paper was another annoyance 
to the tender-hearted old gentleman, and he 
blamed himself most unsparingly for having 
given the reproof. The work was not well 
done, but much worse lines than those would 
have been allowed then to pass without criti- 
cism. 

know,” said Max, ‘‘just what you 
think of it, sir, but there’s no use to 
try. I do mean to be in earnest over these 
things, but they don’t interest me, and I 


62 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


can’t do them well. Indeed, you might just 
as well give me up for what John calls ' a 
bad lot.’ ” 

Mr. Warrington bent over the drawing to 
examine it more closely, while Max sat by 
studying his face. 

It was a genial, kindly face of a man con- 
siderably past his prime. The broad brow 
and long curling white beard, the deep blue 
eyes, gave the impression of gentleness rather 
than strength, and childlike simplicity instead 
of worldly wisdom. 

Even as the boy looked his pencil was at 
work trying to produce a semblance of this 
friend he so dearly loved. 

At it again ?” said the artist as he put 
aside another model and noted the boy’s 
work. 

“ Why, this doesn’t count, you know,” said 
Max. “ I am only using my pencil while 
you are selecting for me. I’m not wasting 
time now. Indeed, that’s what would be 
called ' the busy bee improving the shining 


TWO LESSONS. 


53 


hour.’ I’ll stop whenever you have some- 
thing for me to do.” 

There was the trouble. jThe boy had no 
fixed purpose. He could not say to himself, 
“ I will do none of this until I have earned 
the right through other work.” He saw fit 
to place his own valuation upon his powers ; 
and while he was too pliant in his nature to 
set up an open rebellion to any constituted 
authority over him, yet he thought Mr. War- 
rington was misled by his affection for him, 
and believed him to be possessed of rare abil- 
ities, when it was all a mistake. 

He could not bear to feel that he had 
grieved his preceptor, and the moment an- 
other model was set up, he went to work quite 
earnestly. This time it was with much better 
success ; and both teacher and pupil were sur- 
prised to hear the neighboring clock strike 
two just as they were in the midst of their 
satisfaction at Max’s last effort. 

‘‘ You will have to run for the train this 
time,” said Mr. Warrington. 


64 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Max gave a hasty glance at his watch, and 
finding that was the case tossed a ruler to 
dislodge his cap from the nail near by ; and 
catching both in their descent, he laughed 
heartily at his own dexterity. Then, with a 
hasty “ Good-bye ’’ to Mr. Warrington, he 
bounded down the stairs two or three at a 
time, and was off to the railroad depot, as 
light of heart as if his work had all been 
well done, so fleeting was the impression 
made upon him. 

Max’s home at Wingohocken was seven 
miles from the city by the Reading road. 
He made this journey five mornings of each 
week to go to school, and on Saturday to 
spend it in Mr. Warrington’s studio. 

The lessons in the studio came about in 
this manner. The artist had a warm per- 
sonal regard for Mr. Wolberton ; in fact, they 
had been college chums. He was at their 
house a great deal, and grew to love the boy, 
Max, whose abilities it did not take him long 
to discover. He felt sure at once that with 


TWO LESSONS. 


55 


proper advantages he would rise to great dis- 
tinction. Mr. Wolberton always listened in- 
credulously to his friend’s enthusiasm, for 
his own deeper knowledge of the boy’s nature 
liad made him feel that, with all the rare 
powers with which his son was endowed, they 
were destined to come to naught, unless, in- 
deed, something akin to a miracle should be 
wrought to endow him with application. 

Now and then Mr. Warrington’s ardor 
prevailed, and the father would be induced 
to believe that an artist’s was really his son’s 
vocation, and that possibly he might, if al- 
lowed and encouraged to pursue it, do some- 
thing worthy of his gifts. But it was with 
no very sanguine expectation that the boy 
was allowed to spend one morning of each 
week under Mr. Warrington’s tuition. 

I do not understand,” said the artist in 
one of these debates, ‘‘why you are so op- 
posed to his doing this thing, even if it 
should prove a failure. He will get no 
harm from me,” he added, a little piqued. 


56 


LEAVES AEE FRUIT. 


He will get the harm of being indiffer- 
ent to failure/’ said Mr. Wolberton. ‘Un- 
stable as water, thou shalt not excel,’ is 
on my lips constantly when I watch his 
progress.” 

“ This is sheer folly,” was the retort. 
“ Your boy is not yet fourteen, and you 
talk of him as though his life had been a 
failure.” 

“ ‘ As the twig is bent the tree will be in- 
clined ’ is too patent for you to deny,” was 
the answer. “ You forget that I see more of 
him than you do. I have suffered too keenly 
from my brother Charlie’s wasted life not to 
dread that it may be Max’s inheritance.” 

“ This is all morbid fancy,” rejoined the 
artist. “ The boy is like all the rest. He 
works when the pressure is too strong for him 
to escape it ; but as for doing it for the love 
of it or from a sense of duty, that is a myth 
not to be found except in story-books about 
good children.” 

“ I wish I could believe so,” he replied, 


TWO LESSONS. 


57 

sadly ; but the boy is not like others in any 
respect, it seems to me. The fact is he is 
too great a lover of ease to have sharp cor- 
ners of any kind about him.’’ 

Mr. Warrington dismissed the talk with 
an unbelieving laugh, yet a greater inti- 
macy with the lad made him fear the esti- 
mate was only too well founded. 

Max reached the train just as it was about 
to move, and in half an hour he found 
himself on the platform at Wingohocken 
station. 

The Schuylkill wound along the valley 
below, losing itself behind the distant hills 
in picturesque beauty. At his feet civiliza- 
tion, stern and rude, had banished Nature’s 
grandeur for the hard realities of dingy fac- 
tories and still dingier houses surrounding 
them. The name Wingohocken was now all 
the poetry which the place retained, and 
even this, it was thought, would ere long be 
supplanted by Wolbertonville, in honor of 
the proprietor. 


58 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Some compimctions had been in Max^s 
mind ever since he left the studio as he 
thought of his wasted morning and his 
father’s displeasure if he had seen or known 
of it. No thought of concealment came into 
his mind, for he expected, as usual, to give 
account of what he had been doing, but he 
shrank from the kind of reproof he knew it 
would call forth. 

He looked down upon the busy scene in 
the valley, and the thought came into his 
mind, Why should it vex and trouble my 
father so much about my want of interest in 
this or any work ? There will be no need 
for me to work ; and if I have no ambition 
to gratify, there is nothing else to regret. 
Of course I could not find pleasure in car- 
rying on these mills as father does, but there 
will be money enough without it. Father 
has strange ideas about me, anyhow. I do 
wonder what it is that makes him think I 
ought to keep at things so constantly ? Of 
course I must do what he wants ; but I don’t 


TWO LESSONS, 


59 


believe there is much use in it, unless we were 
l^oor and I had a living to make like George 
there/’ 

The boy turned away from the mills and 
stood gazing far off to the hills, so tempting 
with their gay autumnal covering. It was 
the beginning of November, and the change 
had been very gradual from the summer 
hues. ‘^The melancholy days had not yet 
come,” for the woods, like an Indian queen 
decked in her bridal array, awakened no 
forebodings of decay and death. The tints 
were all gorgeous, the shadows all perfect, 
for no tree had yet cast its leaves. 

The woods were Max’s delight, and as he 
strolled dreamily homeward his gaze rested 
upon the bright hills with earnest admira- 
tion. 

Just the afternoon for a walk,” he mur- 
mured. I wonder if mother would be 
troubled if I went a little way ? I shall not 
stay long enough for her to miss me,” he 
added ; and checking the debate, he bounded 


60 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


over the brook, scarcely heeding the stepping- 
stones, and away into the free woods. 

All the artist in his nature was- brought 
out here. The sunlight cast its bright 
shadows upon the maple, rich with its varied 
coloring, the gorgeous scarlet sumach and 
the wealth of golden-rod — leaves, leaves, 
autumn leaves, that he gathered in eager de- 
light and instinctively grouped with an artist- 
ic grace. On he went, as some new beauty 
tempted his eye, until the deepening shadows 
and the waning sunlight suddenly recalled 
him to the consciousness that what he meant 
to be only a little walk had taken him several 
miles from home. 

Max hurriedly retraced his steps, all his 
pleasure gone in the vexed consciousness of 
his want of self-control. He knew now that 
long before he should reach home dinner 
would be over and his mother watching and 
waiting with her heart full of anxiety lest 
some evil had befallen him. 

J ust as he expected, his mothe]- was on the 


TWO LESSONS. 


61 


porch watching with a troubled face for the 
first sign of him. 

“Oh, Max, where have you been? I 
feared something dreadful. You know you 
promised I should never be disturbed this 
way again.’’ 

“ I was just taking a little walk ; and in- 
deed, mother, I did not mean to be away so 
long. As soon as I found how late it was I 
ran nearly all of the way.” He held up 
his bright treasure of leaves, as if to check 
the reproof he felt was so well merited, and 
as she took them from his hands he threw 
his arms lovingly around her neck : 

“ I do love you, mother, if I do forget. I 
mean it all when I promise you ; but it is so 
easy, when you start in the woods, to go on 
without knowing how fast the time slips 
away.” 

“ Yes, I know that, my child. The wrong 
is not so much in the staying as in going 
without my permission.” She checked the 
rest of the reproof that was on her lips, and 


62 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


began to admire the beauty of the leaves be 
had given her. She was perplexed as to the 
right way to guide him, and his loving, ten- 
der ways to her made the task of reproof 
doubly difficult. She would have led the way 
to talk of it again, when Mr. Wolberton 
came out from the house and joined the 
group. 

Where have you been ?” he said. With- 
out waiting an answer, he added, Idling, as 
usual. Had you no duties ?” 

‘‘Why, no, father,” Max began. “You 
know I am always free on Saturday after- 
noons. I would have come home to ask 
mother’s permission if I had thought of 
going far, but I only meant to get a few 
leaves for mother and be here before dinner. 
The woods were so lovely that I went on 
without thinking. Did it really make any 
difference to you, father ? I had nothing to 
do this afternoon — Oh, father ! How sorry 
I am ! Did George come for his lesson ? Heal- 
ly, I did not mean it. I wanted so much to 


TWO LESSONS. 


63 


do it for him. Will lie come again? Did you 
see him ? Don’t be so displeased with me, 
father,” cried Max, still more earnestly. I 
am very sorry.” 

“ Always sinning the same way, and always 
repenting,” said Mr. Wolberton. If you 
only had some earnestness of purpose in you, 
my boy, I should not complain. It is not 
that this single instance of neglect is such a 
grievous one in my eyes, but it is a fair 
sample of what you do every day. You 
will spend your life gathering leaves — yes, 
‘ nothing but leaves.’ ” 

Max waited and listened to his father, 
pained to think he had caused the displea- 
sure, yet unable to see why it should be taken 
so seriously. It was true the loss was an 
important one to George, but he thought 
within himself, ^‘Everybody forgets some- 
times. I didn’t do it on purpose.” Then he 
said aloud : 

‘‘May I go now and give George a les- 
son ?” 


64 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


‘‘He has had one from me and gone to 
the mill by this time, I suppose,” answered 
Mr. Wolberton. “ If you had one-tenth the 
perseverance of that boy, it would be well 
for you.” 

“ Do tell me about him,” said Max, who 
was growing more and more ashamed that he 
had so carelessly neglected his promise. 

“ It is the most astonishing thing that ever 
came under my notice,” said Mr. Wolberton. 
“ The boy is not at all remarkable for natural 
gifts — indeed, I found it very difficult to 
make things plain enough for him to under- 
stand — but what he said the other night is 
literally true. He has studied pages of the 
grammar by rote without understanding one 
word of it. When I began to take the sen- 
tences to pieces and show him the application, 
his wonder and pleasure were delightful to see. 
Every word I said was watched for eagerly. 
Then he was so anxious I should not be de- 
ceived and think he was appearing to know 
more than he did because he could say the 


TWO LESSONS. 


65 


words so readily. He would follow me 
closely in all the explanations, but every 
now and then he would shake his head hope- 
lessly and say, ‘ I’m very sorry, but I don’t 
quite understand.’ At the same time, I 
found him intelligent enough to tell what his 
stumbling-blocks were, so that I could see he 
was reasoning all the time, and not helplessly 
waiting for me to do the work for him.” 

Did you only teach him grammar ?” said 
Max. 

I gave him an arithmetic lesson besides, 
and told him to come at the same time next 
week. I hope you will remember it then,” 
said Mr. Wolberton. 

Max colored deeply: am sure I shall, 

father. But indeed I do not see why you 
are so offended with me for this.” 

Is there nothing to displease me,” said 
Mr. Wolberton, in an irritated voice, ‘4n seeing 
my son wasting his talents and squandering 
his powers for want of a little application, 
while a boy with no abilities in comparison 


66 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


makes the opportunities for success by un- 
wearied patience and perseverance 

But then there is this difference, father : 
George needs to work hard to make a living, 
and I don’t. I was wondering this after- 
noon, when I passed the mills, why it is, 
when we are so rich, that you are so anxious 
to have me work.” 

Mr. Wolberton said nothing, and Max 
went on : 

I know I ought to be well educated, be- 
cause refined people always are, but then I 
don’t see the use of keeping at things just as 
though we were poor and needed it.” 

“ Never speak so again while you live,” 
said Mr. Wolberton. “ You have always to 
work — not with your hands, probably, as 
George must do to earn his daily bread, but 
with all your God-given powers of mind and 
heart for God and for good. It will be as I 
feared,” murmured Mr. Wolberton as he 
went sadly into the house ; ‘‘ his inheritance 
will be his ruin.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

SUSAN. 

“ Thorns and snares are in the way of the froward.” 

HEN George left Mr. Wolberton, he 
hurried home to his supper before 
going to the mill. 

The afternoon had been one of the 
most eventful of his life. He repeated the 
instruction to himself that he had been re- 
ceiving, with a proud consciousness that he 
really had learned something which he meant 
to turn to profitable account. 

It had cost him a great effort to make the 
beginning and go to the house expecting 
Max to be his teacher ; how much more im- 
possible it would have looked to him had he 
foreseen that Mr. Wolberton himself would 
undertake it ! In spite of his anxiety to get 
instruction, there was a sense of relief, it 

67 



68 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


must be owned, when he learned that Max 
was not at home. He was turning away 
from the house when Mr. Wolherton accost- 
ed him and desired him to await his son’s 
return. 

Once in the house, Mr. Wolherton began 
to question George more closely as to the ex- 
tent of his knowledge ; and before long, with- 
out really meaning to do it, the talk became 
a lesson in which teacher and pupil were 
equally interested. 

George could scarcely believe it possible 
that the boss” — as the mill-hands always 
called Mr. Wolherton — of whom he stood so 
much in awe and the teacher whom he had 
so fearlessly questioned were the same per- 
son. 

When he reached home, however, as was 
generally the case with him, the air-castles 
he had been so industriously building about 
an education that was to bring ease and com- 
fort to those he loved suddenly vanished. 
Supper was on the table, and Susan, with a 


SUSAN. 


69 


more discontented face than ever, was gloom- 
ily counting her week’s wages before she 
handed the money to her mother. 

George was so full of pleasure about his 
lesson that, in spite of Susan’s forbidding 
face, he could not restrain his eagerness, but 
began to talk of all the kindness he had re- 
ceived. 

‘‘Yes,” said Susan, snappishly. “You’ll 
have on more airs now than ever, I expect. 
He’s mighty free with his teaching. If he’d 
be as ready to hand out his money, it would 
be worth talking about. Old Tompkins 
docked me and Jane Skinner a dollar ’cause 
we stopped work a little sooner the other 
night to fix our hair. If he’s so mighty 
generous, he’d better look after that a little. 
They wouldn’t dare to do it if he wasn’t 
willing.” 

Susan’s angry words quite put a stop to 
George’s disposition to talk ; so, finding that 
she had it all her own way, she went on work- 
ing herself up a little more each minute until 


70 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


she was in a fury, her words fanning her 
temper and her temper her words. 

Mrs. Savage was an easy, good-natured 
woman, who seemed to feel that it was her 
mission in life to gather up her own and 
other people’s burdens and bear them pa- 
tiently and uncomplainingly. She looked 
upon Susan in the light of an affliction that 
she was called upon to endure without mur- 
muring. If she could only have been made 
to see that wholesome discipline was the 
thing needed to bring her child to a better 
state of feeling, much of the later sorrow 
that came upon her might have been spared. 
She would look helplessly at the girl and 
say in her patient way, ‘‘ My child, why will 
you talk so ?” 

This was sure to be the signal of a fresh 
outburst from Susan. The girl had become 
so utterly contaminated by evil associations 
in the mill that she paid little heed to her 
mother’s remonstrances. 

George ate his supper in silence, for he 


SUSAN. 


71 


knew of old that his words only added fuel 
to the flame. At last, however, it became 
unbearable ; and giving his plate an angry 
shove, he rose from the table. 

‘‘ If mother would give you a thrashing, it 
would serve you right,” he said. 

She’d better give you one, I think,” re- 
plied Susan, angrily. But mother never 
finds fault with you. She lets you do as 
you choose, while I’m treated like a baby.” 

And while Mrs. Savage looked up in sur- 
prise, the girl burst into a passion of tears. 
George went out before Susan had come to 
the end of her scolding. He was hastily 
changing his Sunday clothes for the working- 
suit, and reappeared to take his coat from a 
peg in the kitchen wall. He was going 
to his work without a word, when better 
thoughts came to him ; and going up to his 
mother, he kissed her and whispered, “ I’m 
sorry, mother.” 

Little Mary, who had kept quite still, fright- 
ened at George’s unusual display of temper, 


72 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


seeing that he looked like himself once more, 
stretched out her little hands and whispered, 

“ Good-night.” 

The evil temper was entirely conquered 
now. He took the tiny cripple in his arms, 
and whispered his usual loving words before 
he put her down again. 

All this time Susan was helping Annie to 
clear away the tea-things. Cups and saucers, 
Ibrks and spoons, were rattled and banged 
with an energy that made it surprising 
that anything should come out of the pan' 
whole. 

George had come to his senses fully now, 
and was sorry enough that he had helped on 
the trouble by his angry words. He went 
up to Susan and said gently, Don’t be 
angry, sister.” 

Go away!” said his sister, crossly. ‘H 
don’t want any of your soft words. You 
look out for yourself, and I’ll mind my own 
business. If I had money like other girls, 
I’d have some decent clothes to go to church 


SUSAN. 


73 


in to-morrow. You wouldn’t care if I didn’t 
have a rag to my back.” 

George said no more ; but taking bis gram- 
mar from the mantel-piece, be went to bis 
work. 

For a while the clatter of dishes was loud- 
er than ever, but no word was heard. 

Even Mary and James were quiet, and be- 
fore long the little boy bad curled himself 
up in the corner beside Mary’s blocks, which 
be was trying to pile up in an orderly fashion, 
and was soon fast asleep. 

When Susan had finished the housework, 
she went to bring her hat. She sat down 
beside the table with a discontented jerk, and 
began to rip the faded trimmings from the 
hat. 

She pulled the lamp impatiently over to 
her side of the table without giving a glance 
to see how it would affect her mother, who 
was sitting darning stockings. 

What are you going to do with your 
hat ?” said Annie. 


74 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


It’s not easy to tell when there’s nothing 
to do it with.” 

‘‘Would you be any happier, my child, 
with a new hat ?” said Mrs. Savage. 

“ Happier said Susan, scornfully. 
“ Where’s the use of your asking me that ? 
I’d like to know where a new hat is to 
come from? I never get things like other 
girls.” 

“ Who is it you are finding fault with ?” 
said the mother. “ Instead of being thank- 
ful to God that he has blessed you with 
health and strength, and that you have 
plenty to eat and to wear, you are angry 
and impatient that you do not get things 
which no girl in your station in life ought to 
long for. Who will think the more of you 
for having a fine hat on ?” 

“I don’t care! I’m not going to have 
people talking about me and saying how 
mean I look in these old clothes.” 

“ If I could only see my little girl anxious 
for the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, 


SUSAN. 


75 


I should not be much troubled about what 
people would say of her.’’ 

‘‘ You always talk that way/^ said Susan ; 
‘‘but I know everybody likes you better 
when you’re dressed up.” 

“ None but very foolish people do, I’m 
sure. There are plenty of silly girls in the 
mill, I know, who think far more of some 
fine feathers than they would of a good con- 
science, but sensible people will not value you 
for your dress. What difference do you 
suppose it would make to Mr. or Mrs. Wol- 
berton, for instance, if your clothes were ever 
so handsome ?” 

“Oh, I know they don’t like the girls 
to be dressed up. But that’s always the 
way with rich people : they can’t bear poor 
people to have anything like what they can 
afford to get.” 

With an angry toss, Susan sent her hat to 
the other side of the table, and sat tapping 
her foot impatiently upon the floor. It was 
evident that she was turning over something 


76 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


in her mind of which she was not yet quite 
willing to speak. 

‘^Take the children to bed/’ said Mrs. 
Savage, and then bring your hat to me and 
tell me what is the trouble about it.” 

Susan obeyed sullenly, and poor little 
James had the full benefit of her ill temper. 
When she reappeared, her hands were full of 
faded ribbons and flowers that she hoped 
would make the despised hat look smarter 
and more like the new fashion. 

“ There isn’t any use in fussing with it, 
mother. I don’t see that it will look any 
better. I’m going to have a new one.” 

But,” said the mother, we can’t afford 
it. The coal must be bought for the winter, 
and before long work may stop, as it did last 
year. Then it will take all that we can put 
by to live till it begins again.” 

“ There’s always something where I’m 
concerned, of course. I don’t care, though ; 
I’m going to have one. Jane Skinner’s go- 
ing to town next week to buy hers. She 


SUSAN. 


77 


says she can go to one of the hish ion able 
places and buy a splendid one for five 
dollars. I don’t see why I can’t have one 
like it.” 

“ If I even thought it was right for you to 
get it,” said the mother, ‘‘ I have not that 
much money to give you.” 

“I’ll earn five dollars next week,” said 
Susan, a little abashed, “ and I can take that. 
Jane says she’ll buy mine if you won’t let 
me go to town to choose it myself.” 

Mrs. Savage looked wonderingly at her 
rebellious child. She put down the faded 
hat that she was using all her skill to furbish 
up, and for the first time a consciousness 
came upon her that she would have to take 
some decided steps or her daughter’s ruin 
would soon be accomplished. The wide dis- 
tance between the girl’s character and dis- 
position now and a twelvemonth before flashed 
upon her. 

How well she recalled the night when Su- 
san pleaded so earnestly to be allowed to go 


78 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


to work that she might help George to sup- 
port the family ! The dangers of the way 
were unknown .to the mother, and for months 
she was blinded to the steady change for the 
worse in the girl by the belief that she was 
tired and overworked. She thought earn- 
estly, and rapidly too, as she sat steadily 
watching Susan’s altered face ; then, with a 
quiet energy that made the girl look up, 
more startled than she would have been by a 
severe reproof, Mrs. Savage said, 

‘‘You have gone to the mill for the last 
time. George gives us all he earns, and we 
must try to live on that. It will be easier, 
too, now that he is to have more wages.” 

There was a strange power in the words. 
Susan had been in the habit of disputing 
constantly when her mother’s wishes dis- 
pleased her, but from these quiet tones she 
understood there would be no appeal. 

She watched her mother as if some 
strange picture had been given her to study, 
but she made no attempt to speak. Mrs. 


SUSAN. 


79 


Savage had returned to her darning, and 
Susan, in surprised silence, made no attempt 
for a long while to resume her work. 

At last she gathered together all the ma- 
terials, satisfied that she was to make the best 
of them instead of having a new hat, and 
before long she was busy with her ribbons 
and flowers, imitating the latest fashion as 
she had seen it in the headdress of Edith 
Wolberton. 


CHAPTER V. 

CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 

“ So now is come our joyfuVst feast ; 

Let every man be jolly ; 

Each room with ivy leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly.” 

HE mill-hands were to have a Christ- 
mas dinner, and all kinds of prepara- 
tions were being made to have it as 
gay a scene as possible. 

The largest room in the mill was cleared 
out the day before, and all the girls went to 
work to make wreaths and garlands of ever- 
green to deck the walls. The mill-wagons 
went back and forth to the woods, and great 
cedar boughs were piled in the yard. Nim- 
ble fingers tied and twined the branches, 
while boys and men nailed and hammered, 
turning the bare, gray-looking room into a 

perfect bower of beauty. For the day it 
80 



CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


81 


seemed as though all petty jealousies and 
envyings were forgotten. Everybody was 
interested. 

The Christmas dinner was an old custom 
at the mills, and long before the time came it 
was always discussed with many pleasant 
anticipations. 

As the season approached this year, Max 
begged his father for permission to decorate 
the walls with evergreens and “have the 
place look like Christmas,’’ he said. 

George and Max were fast friends by this 
time, and as soon as Max began to be enthu- 
siastic over the Christmas greens he hastened 
to George to wake him up to the same state 
of feeling. To a stranger this friendship 
would have appeared quite unaccountable, 
yet on the part of each there was not only 
love but admiration for the other. 

On George’s part, indeed, it was devotion 
amounting almost to worship for the brilliant 
gifts and kindly heart of his friend, while 
Max was equally enthusiastic in his admira- 


82 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


tion of George’s untiring perseverance. 
Then, too, Max had a feeling of pride that 
when success should come to George, as he 
felt certain that it would, a measure of it 
might be owing to the aid he had so cheer- 
fully given. 

The lessons had progressed steadily from 
the beginning. Instead of once a week, the 
number had increased, until there was scarce- 
ly a day in which the boys were not together, 
and always to George’s profit, for he felt that 
he had no time to be idle. 

Mr. Wolberton watched the boys sharply ; 
but he discovered before long that George 
was no idler, and Max, in spite of his father’s 
fears to the contrary, had been carried on 
by his companion’s earnestness. 

George’s progress was a surprise even to 
himself. Every night, in the intervals of at- 
tention to his engine, he worked untiringly 
at grammar and arithmetic. His hand- 
writing was a great vexation to him ; and as 
Max was by no means a fine penman, Mr. 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS, 


83 


Wolberton kindly undertook that part of the 
instruction. 

George was so anxious to repay his teacher 
that every spare moment was given to his 
copy-book. He had succeeded so well in 
the time that Mr. Wolberton laughingly told 
him that morning that he should not be 
willing to give him any more lessons, lest he 
should surpass his teacher. 

George was proud enough of that praise, 
and could scarcely wait to get home that his 
mother might share the happiness of it. 

For weeks he had been racking his brain 
with the question, “ What shall I give Max 
for Christmas 

To George’s unsophisticated eyes there 
was so little left in this world for his friend 
to desire that he did not know where to 
look for a fitting gift. To buy him any- 
thing would take more money than George 
could afford to spend, so something must be 
made with his own hands. But there was 
the question again, ‘‘What should it be?” 


84 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


One day, however, Max himself settled 
the difficulty. He had walked home with 
George after the lesson was over, and for the 
first time entered the house. 

A rude aquarium that George had put to- 
gether the preceding summer was on a little 
table that had been brought into the front 
room and placed beside the window to catch 
the last glimmer of the sunlight. The plants 
were growing very nicely in the water, and 
the gold-fish had become quite tame. 

Why, I declare, old fellow said Max ; 
“ did you make that ? I never thought 
about doing one that easy with just four 
panes of glass. Won’t I make one, though, 
next summer, when I can get the live-stock ? 
Look out ! I’ll beat you with mine. I’ll 
put the rocks in to look like a cave.” 

George questioned how it was to be done, 
and listened to all the hints about new ar- 
rangements. 

When Max went away, George was half 
wild with delight at having it all settled for 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


85 


him ; the aquarium should be rearranged, 
and Max was to have it for Christmas. 

Max had not the same difficulty in decid- 
ing upon his gift for George. From his 
abundant supply of pocket-money he had de- 
termined to buy a set of books that George 
had been admiring in the library, and which 
he seemed to think were an inestimable 
treasure. 

The preparations for Christmas went on in 
every household, though, if Mrs. Savage had 
been asked, she would have answered sadly 
that there was nothing to be done at their 
house. She, poor woman ! was oppressed with 
care and sorrow. She had carried out her 
purpose and kept Susan from the mill, but 
the mischief had been done before she saw it ; 
the girl was restive now under the restraint, 
and there was little change for the better. 

When Christmas eve came, nearly all the 
arrangements at the mill were completed, 
and George went up to Mr. Wolberton’s to 
tell Max how well their plans had succeeded. 


86 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


He was surprised that Max had not made his 
appearance all day, but he soon discovered the 
reason. He found him confined to the sofa 
with a sprain that he had been unfortunate 
enough to get in jumping from the cars that 
morning. 

George stayed a long while to condole with 
him, for he was terribly disappointed that 
after all their work Max could not have the 
pleasure of seeing the ideas so successfully 
carried out in the arrangement of the ever- 
greens. 

The temptation to stay in the bright, 
cheerful room, where everything was in a 
flutter of pleasant preparation for next day’s 
enjoyment, made George forget for a time 
the Christmas eve at home. When some- 
thing that was said recalled it, there came, 
too, a strong feeling of dissatisfaction as he 
compared this joyous household with the 
gloomy one he should find on his return. 

Here was Max in happy wonderment over 
the surprises in store for him next morning. 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


87 


and little Edith darting in and out from one 
room to another, now confiding to Max that 
she was almost certain, from what John said 
in the kitchen, that she was to have a pony, 
and then whispering to George that she had 
made Max the sweetest pen- wiper all by her- 
self. ‘‘ It was a lovely spaniel dog,’’ she said, 
‘‘ lying on a cloth mat. The dog’s ears were 
long and silky, just like a live one, and they 
were painted inside a beautiful pink, the way 
mamma showed her to do it, and they were 
just like real.” 

So the child rattled on, promising George, 
if he should come the next day, a sight of 
this wondrous work of art and all the rest 
of the marvels her nimble fingers had 
achieved for her friends’ gifts. 

Then she began to question George as to 
what he hoped to be surprised with next day, 
and again the feeling of discontent came 
over him as he was reminded of all the 
pleasant things these rich people could do 
for one another, while they in their poverty 


88 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


must be deprived of the happiness a small 
outlay of money might procure. He went 
over in his mind the few paltry gifts he had 
prepared for each one at home, and for a time 
allowed himself to dwell upon their insig- 
nificance in comparison with the costly pres- 
ents that these people were preparing. 

It was hardly to be wondered at that the 
boy should have these feelings, for the strong- 
contrast between the proprietor’s wealth and 
the operatives’ poverty was a constant subject 
of talk in the mill. It was a subject that 
never interested George, for it had always 
seemed natural and right that the Wolber- 
tons should have money and luxury and 
he be without it. But to-night there was 
no such thing as banishing the discontent. 
Why is it, he said to himself, that no pleasant 
surprises wait for me to-morrow ? 

Until last, year his mother had always 
made ready some love-token, no matter how 
trifling, but now the times were so hard she 
had to relinquish this luxury. When she 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


89 


had kissed him on that morning then, and 
told him that was her only gift, he had 
thought he was as happy in the knowledge of 
her love as if she had been able to make him 
the most costly present. But he was dwell- 
ing on the past now, and gloomily enough 
he went over the hard life of toil, and thought 
with a weary sigh that it was only the begin- 
ning. With all his unwearying labor he 
was barely able to make both ends meet,” 
and as the time went on it would be more 
difficult, for the children would need more. 

Max saw the unusual gloom in George’s 
face ; and knowing how heavily the home- 
burden fell upon him, he feared that some 
new calamity had overtaken him. 

You don’t look a bit jolly for Christmas 
eve,” said Max. What’s the matter ?” 

George tried to rouse himself, for the tone 
of sympathy in Max’s voice made him feel 
that he was ungrateful to indulge the thoughts 
that were making him so unhappy. 

‘‘ Nothing, nothing,” he answered, hastily. 


90 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


It’s time for me to be going home to see 
what can be done for our little ones for to- 
morrow.” 

He was on his feet to depart now, when 
Mrs. Wolberton came in, carrying a large 
basket. 

I suppose you will be getting ready a 
Christmas tree for your little ones to-night,” 
she said, and I thought I would bring you 
a few of our candy trifles to help you make 
it look pretty. I have a little gift for your 
mother,” she added, but 1 will send that 
to-morrow.” 

George took the basket from her hand, 
half bewildered and wondering whether he 
had heard aright. Tears of gratitude came 
into his eyes at the thought of the joyful 
surprise it would really be for all. He made 
some confused attempt at thanks, but Mrs. 
Wolberton, with gentle tact, turned it aside, 
saying, 

“ I think my husband would like you to 
do something for him to-morrow morning. 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


91 


Now that Max has been such a bad fellow 
as to get disabled, Mr. Wolberton has no 
one whom he feels quite willing to trust to do 
this errand.’’ 

The boy was only too glad to be of service, 
and in a few minutes Mr. Wolberton came 
in to explain what was to be done. George 
received the commission, which was to carry 
a money-order to the mill foreman at the 
other end of the village, and after getting it 
cashed to take the money to one of the dis- 
abled factory workmen. 

George felt that this too must be a Christ- 
mas gift, and he was doubly glad to be the 
bearer of the happiness it was sure to give. 
He went away now with as light a heart as 
if he had neither care nor work to vex and 
worry him. 

The house at home looked gloomy enough 
as he came near, but it rather gave him a 
feeling of satisfaction as he fancied how 
clianged everything would be when the kind 
gifts were made known. 


92 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


When he was almost there, he turned aside 
from the hard, crisp snow-path to the mill- 
yard, where there were still large branches 
of evergreens that had not been used in the 
decorations. Choosing a fine hemlock bush, 
he trimmed it into shapeliness ; and again 
taking up his basket, he started for home. 

He peeped into the kitchen to see if the 
children were up. Only Mrs. Savage and 
Susan were there, the latter with red eyes 
and angry face, as though she had been in a 
bad temper again. Mrs. Savage brightened 
up at once when the lad came in, and Susan, 
w^ho had meant to take no notice, forgot it 
for a moment in the surprise to see his hands 
full of such a strange burden. 

Just think, mother !’’ he exclaimed ; ‘Sve’ll 
make the children a Christmas tree.’’ 

“ Who wants that thing stuck up in the 
house ?” said Susan. I’d like to know what 
we’ve got to put on it except old clothes. 
What’s in that basket ?” 

George was trying to take no notice of 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


93 


Susan’s anger ; but turning to bis mother, he 
said, 

‘‘ You don’t know how kind Mrs. Wolber- 
ton is. She gave me this basket of things 
for a Christmas tree, and she means to send 
you a present to-morrow.” 

‘‘ What did they give you ?” said Susan. 

“ Why, don’t I tell you ?” was the answer. 

‘‘ That isn’t for yourself.” 

“ Why, no, not for me alone, I know, but 
then it was given to me to make it bright 
for the children.” 

“ I don’t see as there’s anything to be so 
glad about that, I should think they might 
have done something nice for youJ^ 

George knew long ago that it was of no 
use to prolong a talk with Susan when in 
such a mood, so he went on as if she had 
not spoken : 

“Won’t it be fine to dress the tree and 
surprise the children to-morrow morning ?” 

Susan began to be interested as the basket 
was unpacked, displaying candy in abun- 


94 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


dance, nuts, apples and cakes, two dolls and a 
horse for the children. There was a roll of 
the bright-hued paper which George had 
helped Mrs. Wolberton and Max some days 
before to cut into fanciful devices for their 
own tree. As he unrolled it he began to 
describe how it was done, and Susan, all 
interest now, began to try her skill. 

A wooden block was brought from the 
cellar ; and after making a hole in it, George 
soon had the tree securely fastened. Then 
he cut paper and covered the rough wood, 
while Susan hunted strings and made the 
candies ready to be tied on. 

Mrs. Savage looked on, scarcely less de- 
lighted than her children. 

It was almost midnight before they were 
at all willing to leave the tree and feel that 
it was really ready for the children to see. 

Then Susan wanted to go and wake them 
up to see how pleased they would be. Mrs. 
Savage forbade this, and hurried them in 
their preparations for bed, lest they should be 



The Christmas Tree 


Page 94 








w 




i( 


« 







CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


95 


sleepy next morning, and be too late to see 
the first outbreak of delight from the little 
ones. 

George gave a parting look of admiration 
at his work, and then, as he went up stairs, 
begged to be called early, so that he could 
carry the aquarium to Max. When he 
gained his own room, he took out the little 
treasures he had been hiding away for his 
Christmas surprises. 

The feeling of discontent at his inability 
to make them more valuable was all gone 
now, and he could hardly wait until next 
morning to enjoy the pleasure he believed 
they would give. He had wanted v^ery much 
to be able to buy a new dress for his mother, 
and one for Susan too, but there was so much 
to be done with his money, now that Susan 
was no longer in the mill to help, that even 
with his increased wages and the overwork 
he did in the afternoons he could not spare 
the money for it. 

It was only a little footstool he had made 


96 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


for liis mother out of some pieces of walnut 
wood that Max had given him. The two boys 
had been full of the idea that it would be a 
very fine thing to make their Christmas gifts 
with their own hands. Max had gone to 
work very vigorously to put together a box 
for the silver, which he had heard his mother 
say she would like to have. He procured the 
wood, and in the afternoons, after George’s 
lesson was over, they would go into the room 
that Max called his workshop to carry out 
their plan. 

For two days Max was interested enough, 
but his easel was in this room, too, and then 
the fancy took him to make a picture for 
Edith’s gift. While George smoothed and 
fitted and worked at his stool. Max left his 
box and began the picture. He hardly 
looked up to say Good-bye,” so intent was 
he upon the work. 

The next day, however, when work-time 
came again. Max was already weary of the 
picture. George roused him into a feeble 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


97 


spark of interest again as he admired the 
sketch and asked questions about it, but he 
was not inclined to sit at it steadily, and after 
putting in a touch here and there he left it 
and went over to watch George’s progress 
with the stool. 

When George reminded him that he was 
losing the daylight, he said he was not in the 
mood to work that day ; there was plenty of 
time, anyhow ; there was no need to stick at 
the thing when he did not feel like it. 

So the days went by, and Max’s working- 
fit did not come again — that is, his working- 
fit for the picture. He had not been idle all 
the time, but there were no results for the 
labor. Nothing was finished. Whenever a 
new idea came to him, he would straightway 
begin to carry it out. 

Already there were three pictures sketched 
since he began Edith’s. A set of swinging 
bookshelves, a little bracket for the support 
of a bust, a fanciful piece of carving for a 
hanging vase, had each in turn been worked 


98 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


upon and laid aside for a newer fancy, but 
none were finished. 

George listened to his friend’s eager ac- 
count about each new marvel he meant to 
produce with ever-increasing admiration at 
the skill which he showed in carrying out 
the ideas. 

But George was anxious to see them all 
completed, and he would beg Max to go on 
before he began others. 

Oh, that won’t take long now,” he w^ould 
say as George pointed to the bookshelves. 
“ I am going to give them to father to show 
him that I really can accomplish something, 
but I don’t feel like that kind of work to- 
day. I’ll let that wait while I do the others.” 

But Christmas came upon him without 
any of them being ready. George was re- 
gretting it and wondering whether he could 
not do something to help, but Max said he 
had given up thinking about them for Christ- 
mas presents. He should finish them all some 
day and give them just the same, but he had 


CHRISTMAS PREPARATIONS. 


99 


plenty of pocket-money, and he should buy 
all he meant to give away. Such things 
were always a great deal handsomer. 
George’s stool did not seem half so nice a 
thing to give his mother after that, and he 
longed more than ever to be able to buy the 
dress. 

To-night, however, his bitter feelings were 
all gone, and his pleasure had come back ten- 
fold. He set up the little stool admiringly 
on his table, to be in full view the next 
morning as soon as he awakened. 

There was a little work-box for Susan, and 
a toy for each of the children that he had 
ventured to buy out of the extra money which 
he had earned. They were all spread out 
before him now, and he realized to the ut- 
most how much more blessed it is to give 
than to receive. He had no wishes now for 
anything for himself; he knew that there 
was no one from whom to expect it. 

As he knelt by his bedside to offer his 
evening prayer his heart was full of thank- 


100 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


fulness for this foretaste of one of the hap- 
piest Christmases he had ever known ; hap- 
piest, because he had forgotten himself en- 
tirely in the thought of what he should do 
for others. “ Even Christ pleased not him- 
self,’’ and George in his humble place was 
following in his steps. 


CHAPTER yi. 


EDITH IN DANGER. 

“ Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! Unclose 
Thine eye but for one moment on the light ; 

Even at the price of thine, give me repose I” 

EORGE, George ! Merry Christ- 
mas !” said little Annie, peeping into 
the room as she passed her brother’s 
door to go down stairs the next morn- 
ing. 

“ Merry Christmas !” lisped little Mary, 
who was in her arms. 

Merry Christmas !” said a sleepy voice 
from the bed. Then, suddenly recollecting, 
Hold on ! Have you been down stairs 
yet, Annie ?” 

No,” said Annie ; I just got up. I’m 
going down now to dress Mary.” 

Just wait there a minute by my door till 

101 



102 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


I get dressed, won’t you ? I want you for 
something,” he said, eagerly. 

‘^Why, I can wait just as well for you 
down stairs,” answered Annie, in surprise. 

What do you want with me ?” 

But George did not waste his time explain- 
ing ; he was hurrying on his clothes lest he 
should miss the main part of his enjoyment, 
after all. 

“ Hush !” he said, warningly, as the child 
uttered an exclamation at seeing his hands so 
full when he came out of the room. “ Where’s 
Jim ?” 

James answered the question by appear- 
ing, and then they all went down stairs 
together. The tree was in the front room, 
so that the children did not get sight of it 
yet, but stood looking curiously at their 
mother’s tears over her son’s gift. When 
they found that there was something for them 
too, they were overjoyed. Even Susan was 
touched at the token of her brother’s love, 
and a feeling of shame came over her that 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


103 


she had not been equally thoughtful and 
done something for him and the others. 

In the midst of the pleasant little excite- 
ment Annie had walked to the room door, 
where she caught sight of the tree. With a 
scream of delight, she was beside it in an in- 
stant. Little Mary, who was busy examin- 
ing the toy George had given her, dropped it 
at once, and began creeping along the floor as 
fast as her body could go. 

George caught her up in his arms and 
carried her to it, while the whole family 
stood round, their faces as well as their lips 
telling the story that Christmas had really 
come. It seemed as though they would never 
cease flnding new beauties, and all the prepa- 
rations for breakfast were suspended while 
they talked of Mrs. Wolberton’s kindness 
and the joy it had given them. 

At last George remembered his aquarium ; 
and telling his mother he would go off while 
she was getting breakfast ready, he wrapped 
a large woolen shawl around the glass, to be 


104 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


sure that the frost could not get at it, and 
then took it carefully in his arms to carry 
away. 

George intended to leave his gift at the 
door without stopping to see Max. Much 
as he wanted to know whether it would give 
the pleasure he hoped, he could not trust 
himself to stay and see lest he should be 
disappointed. Just as he opened the car- 
riage gate to enter the grounds he saw John, 
the coachman, coming from the stable, lead- 
ing a beautiful Shetland pony. He judged 
at once that this was Edith’s gift from her 
father. 

He had barely time to look at it before 
the hall door opened, and Edith came out 
upon the porch clapping her hands and al- 
most wild with joy. 

She ran down the steps, regardless of the 
newly-fallen snow ; and springing upon the 
mounting-block, she threw her arms around 
the pony’s neck and kissed his bushy mane. 
George was so busy watching Edith in her 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


105 


happiness that he did not see any one else ; 
and when he heard some one shout out : 

Halloa, George ! Merry Christmas !’’ he 
came near dropping his precious burden in 
surprise. 

He looked up to see Max limping through 
the front door to the veranda, while Mr. 
and Mrs. Wolberton were already there, look- 
ing on at their child’s pleasure. George 
took off his cajD and made some awkward 
attempt to return his friends’ greetings. He 
wished most heartily then that he had stayed 
at home with his paltry gift. What would 
it seem to people who were able to buy such 
presents for their children as a pony ? 

He stood irresolutely for a few minutes, 
half persuaded not to uncover it, but to take 
it home with him again. That feeling would 
most probably have gained the day but for 
Edith, who was beginning to take notice of 
something else than her pony. She had be- 
come very fond of George; and when she 
caught sight of him now, she called out. 


106 


. LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Isn’t he perfectly splendid ? Put down 
your bundle and lift me on his back a minute, 
won’t you, George ?” 

George looked at Mrs. Wolberton for con- 
sent. 

If you please, George, just for an instant,” 
said Mrs. Wolberton. do not know how 
he will bear any one upon his back,” she 
added, a little anxiously. Do be careful, 
George !” 

I will indeed,” said George as he placed 
his bundle upon the veranda floor. 

Max, in the mean while, was limping to 
the front of the porch to be nearer the rest 
of the party, while Mr. Wolberton turned 
away to go into the house. George lifted the 
little figure upon the pony’s back, while John 
still stood at the head to guard against acci- 
dent. Max had been eating a handful of 
almonds as he stood looking on, and now, 
giving the shells a careless toss, he said, 

‘'Come, let’s go in. We’ve seen enough 
of — ” But the words died upon his lips as 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


107 


his mother sprang off the porch with a wild 
shriek. 

The almond shells grazed the pony’s nose, 
frightening him so that he gave a terrific 
plunge. George’s eyes had not left Edith 
one minute after Mrs. Wolberton’s warning. 
He grasped her with what seemed to be the 
strength of iron, and as the terrified animal 
broke from John’s hold and ran madly off to 
the high road, George, still holding the child, 
fell backward against the rockery near by. 

In a moment every member of the house- 
hold had rushed out to inquire into the ex- 
citement. George was taken up insensible, 
while Edith, with the exception of the fright, 
was unhurt. 

The doctor was on hand before many 
minutes, and soon assured them that George 
had suffered no serious injury. He had come 
back to consciousness, but his nerves were so 
thoroughly shaken by the shock that he was 
condemned to lie all day upon the library 
sofa, whither he had been carried at first. 


1G8 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


As soon as he had collected his scattered 
senses enough to think of the fright his long 
absence from home would cause, he began to 
beg the doctor to be allowed to go home. 
He felt sure that his mother would not be 
quite satisfied of his safety until she could 
see for herself. 

The doctor was firm in his commands, and 
after giving some other orders he took his 
departure, saying that he would come in 
again before the day was over to see how he 
had been obeyed. 

Mr. Wolberton followed the doctor, and 
the two gentlemen drove to Mrs. Savage’s to 
give her an account of what had happened, 
and prevent needless alarm. 

Susan opened the door in answer to Mr. 
Wolberton ’s knock. She was extremely 
startled when she saw their visitor, but she 
immediately began to wish that she had sent 
Annie to open the door instead of having 
let the gentlemen see her in the old faded 
calico frock. 


EDITH IN DANGEB. 


109 


Please to walk in” she said ; ‘‘ I’ll go and 
call mother.” 

Poor Mrs. Savage was nearly broken- 
hearted at the news of George. The chil- 
dren left their play and came to look at Mr. 
Wolberton with scared faces, while even Su- 
san forgot her calico dress and coarse boots 
as she came up to the doctor and begged 
him to tell her that George was not badly 
hurt. 

Mr. Wolberton said that he would send 
the carriage down and take them all to spend 
the day with George at his house. But Mrs. 
Savage declined, knowing that she would be 
very uncomfortable at the great house among 
the scores of guests who were accustomed to 
make merry there on Christmas day. 

The doctor repeated that the boy was in 
no danger and only needed to be kept still. 
Saying that he meant to see him again in a 
few hours, he promised to call and tell the 
mother what he thought of him then. 

Mr. Wolberton meanwhile took careful 


110 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


note of all around him. Everything showed 
plainly how much George cared for the com- 
fort and happiness of the family. Every time 
the mother spoke of him it was in a tone of 
dependence that showed how entirely the 
boy had become the protector and stay of 
the helpless family. 

Mr. Wolberton had never been in the 
widow’s house before, and indeed knew very 
little of the family except what George 
would unwittingly betray to Max sometimes 
in Mr. Wolberton ’s presence. But he saw 
enough now to make him more than ever 
willing to increase the intimacy of the two 
boys. Their companionship had cost him a 
great many serious thoughts from the be- 
ginning. When he first began to befriend 
George, it was an experiment, which he felt 
not to be without danger, to teach Max per- 
severance and self-denial. Later, when he 
came to know the unfaltering steadfastness 
of purpose that was in George, he was more 
than ever anxious to keep Max within his 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


Ill 


influence, in tlie hope that the example 
might stir him up to a sense of his own 
obligations. 

Mr. Wolberton had decided some days 
before that he would raise George’s wages 
and give him more study-time with his own 
son, but his bravery in the rescue of Edith 
that morning had altered the plan. Mr. 
Wolberton was resolved now to provide for 
the support of the family and permit George 
to take up his studies in the same school with 
Max. Whether the influence would do all he 
hoped for Max remained to be tested, but of 
this one thing Mr. Wolberton was certain — 
that George’s progress would of itself justify 
the outlay. 

How painfully apparent the contrast be- 
tween the two boys had appeared that 
morning to Mr. Wolberton ! Though George 
suspected no danger from the pony, yet he 
kept watch over his charge without an in- 
stant’s neglect. Had it not been for this, 
Edith would have been dashed headforemost 


112 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


into the pile of stones. Max would have been 
quite as brave to risk his life in saving his 
sister, yet his thoughtlessness was the cause 
of the whole accident. 

When Mr. Wolberton saw that it would 
really be an annoyance to Mrs. Savage to 
insist upon her coming to his house, he said 
no more, but after gladdening her heart with 
the praises of her son he took leave, promis- 
ing to send frequent messages during the 
day about George. 

As soon as they were again alone Susan 
began to pout that her mother had refused 
the invitation. 

You might have let me go, any way,’’ 
she said. I never get anywhere to see any- 
thing.” 

Mrs. Savage’s heart was too anxious about 
her boy to pay much heed to Susan’s com- 
plaints. The girl went on grumbling, until 
at last the mother said, 

‘‘ I thought you wanted to go to the mill 
dinner to-day ?” 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


113 


‘‘So I did/’ said Susan, crossly, “ if I could 
have any decent things to wear.” 

“ You wouldn’t go to Mr. Wolberton’s, then, 
in your old clothes ?” said little Annie. 

“ Hush up !” retorted Susan. “ I’ll go 
where I please. If I’d been asked there by 
myself, I’d go, you’d better believe. I’ll go 
to the mill for dinner, anyhow ; I’rn going to 
have something good to eat if I can’t have 
]iew clothes.” 

Mrs. Savage, well meaning but weak, offer- 
ed no reproof. She called Annie to her and 
began to help her change her dress and make 
herself neat and tidy, that she might take 
lier share of the Christmas entertainment, 
which was prepared at the mill for the chil- 
dren as well as the grown people. 

All the Wolberton family had gathered 
around George in the greatest alarm until he 
had come to himself and the doctor had 
given his opinion of the extent of his injury. 
After the doctor had gone, however, break- 
fast was remembered. A waiter with the 


8 


114 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


most tempting repast was brought to George, 
while Edith came and sat beside him to coax 
him to eat it. 

He was not at ease enough to eat his break- 
fast in the grand house, especially in her 
presence. The silver forks, the napkins and 
the ordinary accompaniments of a handsome- 
ly-set table made him feel that if he should 
be condemned to that for the rest of his life, 
he should never dare to eat a full meal 
again. 

Edith was disappointed, and frightened, too, 
that he could not enjoy what was brought 
him, but Mrs. Wolberton had some inkling 
of the true reason, and she did not fear but 
that she might overcome it in some way 
before the day was over. 

The doctor had said George must be per- 
fectly still all day. Mrs. Wolberton came 
into the library after her breakfast was over, 
and drawing a pretty stand beside the sofa 
placed a dish upon it filled with delicious 
grapes and hot-house fruits of different 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


115 


kinds. They were for George, she said, just 
as he felt inclined to eat them. 

She stooped over him and stroked back 
the hair from his forehead and arranged the 
pillows. Then, playfully turning Max and 
Edith out of the room, she bade George be 
quiet and go to sleep as soon as possible. 

George found it much easier to obey than 
he had supposed, and before long he was in 
utter forgetfulness of all around him. 

When he awoke, the twilight shadows 
were falling around the room and making 
strange, fantastic figures on the wall. He 
looked at the bright fire blazing in the grate ; 
and half waking, half sleeping, he began to 
frame pictures in its glowing light. In the 
centre it seemed to open far away through a 
black road to a golden city, and as he looked 
lie remembered the description of the Holy 
Jerusalem in Eevelation, ‘^The city was 
pure gold like unto clear glass,’’ and then the 
foundations of the wonderful stones, whose 
glorious light, unlike anything he had ever 


116 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


before been able to compare it with, must 
surely resemble this ever-changing, ever- 
beautiful hue. Then a small blackened 
cinder fell into the hollow, and he likened 
it to Buny all’s pilgrim toiling on toward the 
golden city. 

The pictures came to an end as the library 
door opened and Max exclaimed, 

“ You’ve done your share at sleeping to- 
day, old fellow. I was afraid we should get 
done dinner entirely before you waked up. 
I’m going to open the doors to let you see 
how pretty everything looks.” 

So saying. Max slid back the great wide 
doors, letting in a flood of light and display- 
ing the lovely decorations of the dining- 
room. The table was filled with guests. 
Tasteful decorations of evergreens were 
around the walls, while rare plants from the 
conservatory were arranged with studied 
grace that made the whole a perfect fairy 
scene. 

George was still feeling the effects of his 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


117 


fall, and dream and reality were so strangely 
mixed in his mind that it was a long time 
before he could bring himself to understand 
that all he was seeing was real. 

As soon as Mrs. Wolberton discovered that 
George was awake she had his dinner sent 
to him, and summoned Max back to the 
table. 

Left to himself, George found no diflSculty 
in enjoying his dinner. 

By degrees, as he became accustomed to 
the scene around him, he began to notice the 
conversation in the next room. They were 
discussing a plan for the evening’s enjoyment. 
S'everal things were proposed and vetoed, un- 
til somebody suggested tableaux. 

“ That will be the very thing,” echoed two 
or three in a moment. 

‘‘ I’ll tell you what it would be fine to do,” 
said one young lady who had been deeply 
interested in Mr. Wolberton’s account of the 
mill dinner and the pleasure it had seemed 
to afford to all who were there. ‘Mf Mr. 


118 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Wolberton will permit it, we might have 
the tableaux at the mill, and send round and 
get your people in for audience/’ 

The notion seemed to please everybody, 
and a flutter of talk and preparation began 
at once. 

Mr. Wolberton told John he must contrive 
some kind of a sleigh to take the party down 
to the mill, and John, with his shiny black 
face all aglow with pleasure, declared he 
could put the body of the old hay-cart on 
runners, or take one of the mill-wagons, 
which was already prepared that way, if the 
ladies didn’t mind riding in such a contriv- 
ance. 

The ladies were quite as ready to take that 
part of the fun as any other, and John re- 
ceived his orders to make his sleigh as fine 
as possible. 

It was a long, long time before dinner was 
over, George thought. He could not under- 
stand what people could find to keep them so 
long at the table. 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


119 


At last it was over, and the guests moved 
away to the opposite side of the hall to the 
large drawing-room. 

Mrs. Wolberton came in to say a few 
words to George, while Max limped away to 
the parlor to hear all the plans for the even- 
ing. 

While Mrs. Wolberton was talking to 
George in her bright, cheerful way, a kind, 
hearty voice said. 

May I come in ?” 

“ By all means, Mr. Warrington. This is 
our young friend George Savage.” 

Mr. Warrington was just the kind of man 
that boys instinctively love and reverence. 
He reached out his hand to George and said, 

“ It’s almost too late to wish you a ‘ Merry 
Christmas.’ ” 

George smiled, but could think of nothing 
suitable to say, and only answered, ‘‘Yes, 
sir.” 

Mrs. Wolberton kindly came to his aid, 
but her pleasant words brought so many 


120 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


blushes to liis face that she readily turned 
attention from him and began to talk of the 
tableaux. Suddenly Edith bounded into the 
room, and in her eager voice began to say, 
Oh, mamma, am I to go to-night ?” 

“ No, darling ; I should not be willing.” 
Then, seeing the look of disappointment 
upon the child’s face, she said, 

‘‘ I thought my little daughter knew what 
was due to her guests better than to want to 
take an enjoyment for herself if they were 
not able to share it.” 

It never occurred to George that Mrs. 
Wolberton could mean him when she was 
talking to Edith so. 

The child’s manner changed in a moment. 
I’m very sorry,” she whispered, that I 
said anything about it before him, but I 
would like to go ever so much,” she added, in 
a still lower whisper. 

Mrs. Wolberton smiled, but before she 
could make any reply Max limped in in 
search of her. 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


121 


“ Do you think, mother, that it would hurt 
George to take him and me and Edith down 
to the mill to-night ? It would be so splen- 
did for us to gof’ 

‘‘ Don’t speak of it,” said Mrs. Wolberton, 
decisively. George must not have the ex- 
citement, neither would I consent to your 
going, even under other circumstances,” she 
added as she noted his look of irresolution, 
as if he meant to ask permission to go with- 
out George. You have exerted yourself 
entirely too much to-day as it is, and I fear 
we shall find that sprain of yours more se- 
rious than we think unless you take better 
care.” 

Mrs. Wolberton was interrupted by a 
chorus of laughing voices calling her from 
the parlor. She made haste to answer the 
summons, and then led the way up the stairs 
to a well-known room where were stored 
relics of bygone days in the shape of dresses 
of the past century and quaint trinkets that 
had been the pride of Mr. Wolberton’s 


122 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


grandmother. The dresses were selected and 
the arrangements soon made for a repetition 
of some former tableaux with which the same 
party had amused themselves at Mr. Wol- 
berton’s house the Christmas before. Laugh- 
ing and shouting, the whole company hurried 
down stairs again. 

By this time John had his sleigh ready. 
It was the great mill- wagon that he brought, 
with boards fastened around the sides for 
seats. Carriage cushions, robes and blankets 
were put in to make it complete, until they 
all declared themselves tempted to give up 
the tableaux and turn it into a sleigh ride. 

The children stood looking on with sober 
faces as the merry party took their seats in 
the fantastic chariot which John had arranged. 

“ Here’s your place beside me, Mr. War- 
rington,” called out Alice Sunderland, Max’s 
pretty cousin. 

Many thanks, Miss Alice,” said the artist, 
bowing courteously, ‘‘but I shall not have 
the pleasure this evening. We are going to 


EDITH IN DANGER. 


123 


have a Christmas party of just four in the 
library to-night.’’ 

‘‘ You don’t mean that you are going to 
stay with us ?” said Edith. 

Mr. Warrington smiled his assent. 

Why, that’s perfectly splendid,” she ex- 
claimed. ‘‘We shall not care a mite for 
anything else, I know.” 

“ I ought to be flattered,” said the old gen- 
tleman. “ I certainly never had a more sin- 
cere compliment than that, little lady.” 

He reached out his hand to her as she 
spoke, and as the sleigh-bells jingled forth 
their merry note of departure the three re- 
turned to George in the library without one 
shade of regret upon their faces. 


CHAPTER VII. 

MB. WABBINGTON’S STOBY. 

“ In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure dome decree.” 

OW, how are you going to entertain 
me ?’’ said Mr. Warrington. 

Max looked up rather uneasily, for 
he wondered, if the artist really were 
in earnest, how he should ever find anything 
to interest him. 

‘‘ I know,’^ said Edith, who had seated 
herself on a low hassock by the grate and 
was looking steadily at her old friend — ‘‘I 
know the very thing. You will tell us one 
of your stories.” 

‘‘Well, well!” said the old gentleman, 
laughing ; “ that is a new way to put it. So, 
then. Miss Sauciness, you have the temerity 

124 



MR. WARRINGTON’S STORY. 


125 


to say that the best way to entertain me is to 
let me hear myself talk 

She looked at him very archly, but gave 
no answer, for Max had taken up the re- 
quest and was begging Mr. Warrington to 
yield. It was an old custom for the artist to 
amuse the children in this way, so that they 
felt themselves quite sure of a treat. 

“ But,’’ said Mr. Warrington, “ I have 
told you all the stories I know, and the next 
thing my little lady will be saying that I 
am like all other old people in telling my 
stories over again. What kind of a one 
must it be ?” 

‘‘ All about knights and ladies and fair- 
ies and enchanted castles,” said Edith. 

Yes, that will be just the thing,” chimed 
in Max, who had been reading the legends 
of King Arthur quite lately. 

We have left George entirely out ; what 
does he have to say about it?” said Mr. War- 
rington. 

But George was far too shy to give any 


126 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


opinion ; besides, it would have been difficult 
for him to know what he really did like, so 
little of this wonderland of childhood had 
ever been revealed to him. 

‘‘Now,” said Edith, “please begin. I 
know George will like it, any way. Say 
‘ Once upon a time.’ I always know some- 
thing lovely is coming then.” 

“ ‘ Once upon a time,’ ” began Mr. War- 
rington, “ there lived a famous old knight 
named Sir Wildrid. His castle was on the 
banks of a river that flowed on in its course 
beside the king’s court. 

“ Sir Wildrid had been noted in his day 
for many valiant deeds of arms, but he was 
getting old now, and all his hope lay in his 
young son, Bertram. 

“ Merlin the enchanter had foretold many 
things of this infant at his birth. He would 
be as handsome as Sir Launcelot, as noble and 
as pure in heart as Sir Galahad. He would 
be full of knightly ardor and burn to ac- 
complish great things. 


MB. WABBINGTON’S STOBY. 


127 


‘‘ But here the prophet stopped. He either 
could not or would not reveal more of the 
child’s character. When urged, he said the 
future was to be hidden from sight until such 
time as the hoy should have his first trial at 
arms. When that time came, Merlin prom- 
ised to appear again and give his advice as to 
the way in which he was to be made ready 
for his first encounter. 

^‘Meanwhile, a daughter was born to Sir 
Wildrid. The two children grew side by 
side, Bertram and the gentle Edina, and 
were tenderly devoted to each other. 

‘‘They were quite away from the tumult 
of the great court, living such quiet, peaceful 
lives that they never dreamed of the sin and 
wickedness which lay a short way down the 
river. 

“Perhaps old Sir Wildrid was wrong in 
so carefully preventing the young Bertram 
from hearing anything of the great court. 
It may be, if he had known the encounters 
of many as young as himself, and the dan- 


128 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


gers, too, that might fall to his share almost 
any day, the boy would have been always 
making himself ready. 

As it was, the young Bertram gained in 
stature, but not in knightly courage. The 
shadow of the family greatness was upon 
him, and he seemed to feel that, as his fath- 
er’s castle was so strong, no enemy could 
ever destroy it. It was useless for him to 
disturb his own ease by learning the arts of 
war. It was true his face would glow with 
delight when old Sir Wildrid told of the 
famous deeds of his own time, and even a 
sigh would come that there was nothing left 
for him to do. 

He did not know or he did not under- 
stand how many brave people there were in 
the world beyond who were sore pressed 
and in need of a valiant arm to help them, 
or how many lovely dames whom his prowess 
might deliver from distress. 

“ As the time passed on, however. Sir Wil- 
drid began to be much grieved that his son 


MR. WARRTNGTON^S STORY. 


129 


showed no disposition to win a name by 
knightly deeds. 

‘‘There was an old knight living in the 
castle at that time named Sir Humbert. 
He had been Sir Wildrid’s companion in 
arms, and to him the father confided his 
sorrow. 

“ ‘ Let me teach him the use of weapons 
for a while,’ said Sir Humbert. ‘He does 
not know yet how much strength has come 
into his right arm. I’ll warrant he will be 
eager enough for an encounter when he finds 
out what he can do.’ 

“ Sir Wildrid consented rather doubtfully, 
and the next day the old knight began to 
teach Bertram to use the sword. 

“ The boy was as winning as a girl in his 
ways, and so manly, withal, that the old knight 
loved him better and better each day. The 
lessons went on, but Sir Humbert had to ac- 
knowledge that the boy gained very little by 
the sword exercise. 

“ Sir Wildrid would turn away sick at 


130 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


heart to see his son's uncertain strokes, when 
he felt so confident that he had strength to do 
better. 

‘‘ Lower down than the castle, on the bank 
of the river, was a little hut that Sir Wil- 
drid had built for one of his old retainers, 
Meval. 

Meval had followed Sir Wildrid, as his 
squire, in many a valiant encounter ; but he 
was very old now, and could not even keep 
his master's armor in the bright condition 
which used to be his delight. 

“ But his son, the young Meval, never 
suffered it to be tarnished. He was never 
tired of hearing of the famous deeds wrought 
by them; and though he thought sadly 
sometimes that, because of his own mean 
birth, he might never win renown in the 
same way, yet his heart burned within him 
to be in an encounter. 

Many a fine day, with a full suit of 
armor that he had fashioned from wood 
after the pattern of his master's, young Meval 


MR. WARRINGTON'S STORY. 


131 


would steal away into the woods and prac- 
tice as if he were confronting valiant knights. 

One day, when Sir Wildrid was walking 
gloomily through the woods, he came sud- 
denly in sight of the boy. Meval was too 
intent to know that he was watched. 

‘ Ha !’ said the old knight, ‘ if I could 
once see Bertram as much in earnest, I 
should know that our good king would have 
one worthy of my name when I am gone.’ 

‘‘ Meval was much frightened when he 
saw Sir Wildrid, for he feared lest he should 
be offended. Instead of that, the knight 
spoke to him kindly, and told him to come 
with his armor to the castle the next morning. 

Meval was delighted to obey, for every 
part of the old place reminded him of some 
knightly adventure of which his father had 
been so proud to tell. 

He was there bright and early next 
morning, and met old Sir Wildrid in the 
courtyard. He conducted him without de- 
lay to the armory, where Sir Humbert and 


132 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Bertram were already at their morning exer- 
cise with the swords. 

‘ Hold, Humbert !’ cried Sir Wildrid. 
‘ Let us see a passage between the young- 
sters.’ 

<< < Agreed,’ said Humbert, who felt sure 
that his favorite would so easily overcome 
that Sir Wildrid would look more favorably 
upon his son than he had done of late. 

“ He counted very wide of the mark, 
though, for before many strokes Bertram 
was so completely worsted that he was fain 
to cry, ‘ Hold !’ 

‘‘ Sir Humbert was not so depressed about 
it ; he believed that the boy would yet win 
distinction. He tried to raise Sir Wildrid’s 
spirits by his hopeful words ; but the father 
was mournful beyond expression, for Merlin 
had just been with him to give warning that 
the time had come to send the boy out in 
quest of adventures. 

' I tell you what it is, Humbert,’ said Sir 
Wildrid : ‘ I should have some hope of him 


MR. WARRINGTON^ S STORY. 


133 


if lie felt himself disgraced by these failures, 
but recall his words this morning when you 
chided him for the failure. 

‘ “ Let him win a name with his feats of 
arms,” he said ; ‘‘ I could add nothing to the 
family glory were I ever so valiant.” ’ 

‘‘Sir Wildrid bowed his head in grief. 
‘I had thought,’ he said, ‘that we would 
make him ready for the combat while he was 
with us, but Merlin tells me that the time 
for it is past now. He must be sent forth to 
the great court at once, where he will receive 
directions how to obtain his armor and what 
is to be his quest.’ 

“ ‘ If he managed his sword only half as 
well as the young clown Meval,’ said Sir 
Humbert, ‘ I would fear nothing for him.’ 

“ ‘ You may well say that,’ rejoined Sir 
Wildrid, ‘but I believe now that greatness 
has departed from the family. The boy is 
no coward, but he will not see that he must 
make a way for himself by his own valiant 
deeds.’ 


134 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


The old warriors talked long and earn- 
estly, for they both loved Bertram dearly. 
They knew now that they might not detain 
him with them any longer, and the next 
morning, after much goodly counsel, they 
started him upon his journey handsomely 
mounted, as became his noble birth and con- 
dition. 

‘‘The gentle Edina mourned for her 
brother, and would not be comforted. Old 
Sir Humbert tried to beguile her through 
the first long day with many a famous story 
and quaint legend, but her mind would wan- 
der far off toward the distant towers whither 
her loved Bertram had gone. 

“ Then they wandered along the river-bank 
toward the great court of which Edina was 
thinking so longingly. 

“ They had not gone many steps, however, 
before they descried old Meval sitting beside 
his lonely hut in deep grief. 

“ Sir Humbert hailed him at once : 

“ ‘ What aileth thee, good Meval ?’ 


MR. WARRi:^GTON^S STORY. 


135 


“‘Alack for my old days! I am left 
alone. He that was the light of my eyes 
and the joy of my heart is gone from me 
to-day, and these old eyes will never look 
upon him again.’ 

“ ‘ Meval, thy son is not gone away from 
thee, surely V 

“ ‘ Even so,’ was the answer. ‘ He thirsts 
for adventures. He would rescue his mother 
and sister from the cruel enchantment that 
has kept them bound in the dark caves of 
Dyvi these long years.’ 

“ ‘ He is a brave lad,’ said Sir Humbert. 
‘ Thou wilt have good cause to rejoice in him 
some day.’ 

“ ‘ I shall never live to see his return,’ said 
the old man, sadly ; ‘ but I am satisfied that 
he will keep his vow and do what I never 
could have done.’ 

“ Edina looked at the old man, and then 
away far down the river, as if she would 
pierce the envious clouds that hid the loved 
one from her sight. She longed to be a 


136 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


noble knight that she might ride away into 
the dim, far-off world and win fame and for- 
tune. 

“ Then the gentle child began to comfort 
old Meval with some tender words her own 
sorrow had taught her, and the old man 
looked up and smiled. 

“ When they turned back again to the 
lonely castle. Sir Humbert began to picture 
to her the time when Bertram should come 
back covered with the glory of his deeds of 
prowess, and the child listened and grew 
content. 

“A little sadly at first young Bertram 
rode away to the great court ; but as the day 
advanced, and he came in sight of the towers 
and balconies of the famous city, his sadness 
gave place to interest. It was all so new to 
him that he checked his gallant steed in its 
rapid pace and walked him soberly along the 
river-bank. He was startled at last to hear 
the clatter of hoofs behind him, and ere 
long Meval came up, mounted upon a most 


The Youn^: Knight. 


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MB. WARRINGTON^ S STORY. 


137 


ill-favored nag. Bertram was full glad to 
see a familiar face, and they joined company 
and began to talk of what lay before them. 

‘‘Meval intended to present himself at 
court too; and if it were permitted, they 
would bear each other company in their ad- 
ventures. 

Meval gave Bertram an account of the 
enchantment of his mother and sister, and 
Bertram vowed to help him deliver them. 

The first rays of the sun were glimmer- 
ing in the east next morning when they 
presented themselves at the king’s court. 
When Bertram knocked for admittance at 
the king’s gate, a surly porter appeared, who 
demanded to know his business. 

‘‘ ‘ I am sent here by my father. Sir Wil- 
drid,’ answered Bertram. 

“‘No one enters here,’ said the porter, 
‘ who has not secured his sword and shown 
himself worthy to enter by some gallant 
deeds. What claim have you to see the 
king ?’ 


138 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Then Bertram began to tell of the good 
service his father had done, but the man 
laughed long and loud : 

‘‘‘Much good it does to stand prating 
about what your father did ! Where are 
your arms ? If, as you say, you are the son 
of the famous Sir Wildrid, you can soon 
show whether you are worthy of his noble 
name. In the wood hard by you will find an 
immense rock in the shadow of a great tree. 
Bide thither and choose your sword. When 
you return, I will tell you what must be 
done.’ 

“ Meval, who had reined up his old horse 
beside Bertram, now ventured to address the 
porter. 

“ ‘ I am not of noble birth,’ he said ; 
‘might I ever hope to win the king’s no- 
tice ?’ 

“ The porter seemed to look on Meval with 
more approval than he did on Bertram, and 
he answered in a kindlier tone that the king 
valued them for their brave deeds, and that 


MB. WABRINGTON^S STORY. 


139 


he would be sure of notice if he did some- 
thing worthy. 

Young Meval rode away after Bertram, 
as he had been directed, to see what had to 
be done about getting the sword. They eas- 
ily found the spot to which they had been 
directed, and there, seemingly embedded to 
the hilt in the rock, were two swords. 

‘ One for each of us,’ said Bertram. 
‘ Which will you take ?’ 

‘ Take your choice,’ was the rejoinder. 
^ I will be quite content with the other.’ 

‘‘ Bertram shook first one, and then the 
other. The hilt of the one was fair to be- 
hold, while the other was coarse and looked 
as though it would, bruise the hand to grasp 
it. He did not like to take the fairest and 
leave his companion no choice but the other. 
He tried for a few minutes to dislodge the 
shabby one, but it was slow to yield to his 
effort, and he grasped the other and drew it 
readily from the rock. 

To his surprise, another came up slowly 


140 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


in its place, so that Meval still had the two 
from which to choose. 

‘‘ ‘ The rough one suits my condition best,’ 
he said ; ‘ I will take it.’ 

He drew it out without much difficulty, 
and then they both mounted their horses 
and rode back to the king’s gate. 

‘‘On their way they fell to examining 
their strange swords. As Bertram held up 
his glittering blade in the sunlight he found 
it bore the inscription, ^Acribus initiis in'- 
curioso jine^ ” 

“ What’s that ?” said Edith. 

“ Come now. Max,” said Mr. Warrington ; 
“ let us know about your Latin. Translate 
that for us.” 

Max was somewhat confused. 

“ It means — Why, something about care- 
less in the end, don’t it ?” 

“ You please tell us,” said Edith, unwill- 
ing to have Mr. Warrington hindered from 
his story that long. 

The old gentleman laughed heartily as he 


MR. WARRINGTON'S STORY. 


141 


stroked the eager face she held up to him, 
and said, 

It means, ‘ Alert in the beginning, negli- 
gent in the end.’ ” 

‘‘ How funny !” said Edith. 

Max suddenly began to think perhaps Mr. 
Warrington’s story meant something, and the 
color came up in his face as he said, 

‘‘ It wasn’t a very good sword to have.” 

Mr. Warrington smiled quietly, but made 
no answer except to go on with the story : 

‘‘ Meval was examining his all this time, 
and now he found that it, too, had an 
inscription. Meval was not much of a 
scholar, so he begged Bertram to tell him 
what was written there. 

“ Bertram read, ^ Labor omnia vincit^ 
which means,” said Mr. Warrington, with- 
out questioning Max this time, ‘‘ ‘ Labor con- 
quers everything.’ 

‘‘When they arrived at the palace gate, 
the porter admitted them into a square 
courtyard, which surrounded a low build- 


142 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


ing filled with suits of armor. He told them 
they each should find a full suit there bear- 
ing the same motto as that upon their 
swords. They had no difficulty then in 
making their selections; and after equip- 
ping themselves fully, they waited to hear 
what to do next. 

The porter told them that the king was 
in dire need of brave knights to help him 
defend his dominions, but that they must 
first prove themselves valiant. 

‘‘ Hard by in the forest was a dragon whom 
they must first seek and fight. They were 
both eager for the encounter, but the porter 
said in this adventure they could not bear 
each other company ; Bertram must go first, 
alone. If he failed, he must not return to 
the king’s court for another year ; and dur- 
ing that time, if such were the case, the por- 
ter advised him to put his sword to good test, 
for it might be that he had not chosen a 
good one.” 

‘‘ ‘ Will I have a chance to change my 


MR. WARRINGTON’S STORY. 


143 


sword then/ asked Bertram, ‘ if it does not 
prove to be trusty T 

“ The porter told him that one more choice 
would be allowed, and with this assurance 
Bertram departed. 

He reached the spot designated before 
long, but there was no dragon in sight. 
Carefully adjusting his armor, he paced 
slowly back and forth, watching for his 
foe. 

Now and then he took out his sword 
and pictured the contest to himself. Sud- 
denly he was startled by rustling leaves. 
His hand was on his sword at once, but as 
the boughs parted a beautiful maiden ap- 
peared. Bertram thought of his lovely sis- 
ter Edina, and he saluted the gracious lady 
in all courtesy. In the pleasure of her com- 
pany he forgot before long all about his ar- 
mor and his adventure. His sword was put 
up now in its scabbard, and he listened to 
the charming voice, until suddenly the face 
began to change, and ere he could grasp his 


144 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


weapon the creature was transformed into 
the fearful dragon. Terrified, he turned 
his horse and fled without making a single 
stroke. 

“ Mortified and vexed that he should have 
been so easily defeated, he rode sadly on un- 
til nightfall, when he stopped before a little 
house for refreshment. 

“ The good old people who were living 
there gave him their very best fare to re- 
vive him, and took him into a pleasant room, 
where he rested his weary limbs until the 
next day. When he made his appearance 
in the morning, the old man said, 

“ ‘ I perceive you are a knight in quest of 
adventures, and a right valiant one you look 
to be.' 

‘‘ Bertram was greatly confused at this un- 
deserved praise, but the old man, knowing 
that the courageous are never boastful, be- 
lieved that to be the reason of his silence, 
and went on to urge the stranger to take up 
their cause against a wicked giant in a cave 


MB. WARRINGTON’S STORY. 145 

hard by who put everyth! ag that came with- 
in his limits under the spell of enchant- 
ment. 

“ Bertram listened to the account ; and 
vowing to himself that this time he would 
not be caught by any such allurement as be- 
fore, he betook himself to the giant’s cave. 

“ He thanked his host for the kindly 
warning and advice he gave not to be off 
his guard for one moment, or he should 
surely lie in the cave, enchanted like the 
others, until some one came to deliver him. 
Pie grasped his sword firmly in his hand, 
and waited at the mouth of the cave. He 
heard sounds within, and he believed that 
the giant would soon a^^pear, yet, determined 
to guard against surprise, he kept watch on 
all sides, fearing he might be mistaken. 

‘‘At last he began to grow very weary, 
and it was so hard to keep constantly turn- 
ing from side to side instead of keeping 
watch steadily in one direction that he con- 
cluded to relax his efforts a little. 


10 


146 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


‘‘ From the sounds, he was quite sure that 
the giant was in the cave, and if he kept 
strict guard, with his sword ready drawn, at 
the mouth, it would be quite enough. 

“ Scarcely had he decided upon this and 
settled himself in a comfortable position, 
when he was aroused by a rushing sound be- 
hind him, and in an instant he found him- 
self driven by an irresistible force within 
the cave. 

“ His hands and feet suddenly lost all 
power of motion, and he looked around him 
upon a group of people, who, like himself, 
were doomed to silence and inactivity. 

‘‘ How many days and nights he sat there 
he could not tell, but at last there came a 
time when the cave quivered to its founda- 
tions as the old giant fell dead, conquered 
by the powerful blows of young Meval, who 
had overcome the dragon, and now was come 
to deliver his mother and sister and Bertram, 
with all the rest of that silent company, from 
this cave of Hyvi. 


MR. WARRINGTON’S STORY. 


147 


When Bertram heard Meval recount his 
adventures, he began to wonder whether 
the sword had anything to do with the suc- 
cess, but he was not quite satisfied about it 
yet. 

“ They journeyed all together for many 
days ; and when they stopped at a little hut 
by the roadside, the old woman who served 
them began to relate that a party of knights 
had just passed that way, and had said in 
her hearing that Sir Wildrid’s castle had 
been besieged. His daughter, the lovely 
Edina, had been carried off to an enchanted 
place, and there she must remain until some 
one was found brave enough to deliver her. 

“ Bertram was grieved to the heart when 
he heard this news, but Meval rose up and 
vowed he would go to deliver her. The old 
woman asked Meval if he was the damsel’s 
brother, for no other would be able to rescue 
her. 

“ Then Bertram went away sorrowing, for 
he was sure now that he had mistaken the 


148 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


sword, and that his was not strong enough. 
Slowly he rode back toward the king’s gate, 
to wait there until the time should come for 
him to choose another sword.” 

Here Mr. Warrington stopped. 

‘‘ That’s not the end,” said Edith. 

Well,” rej)lied Mr. Warrington, that’s 
all I know. Suppose we let Max end it ?” 

‘‘Why,” said Max earnestly, “I can tell 
you. When the time came round again, he 
chose the right sword, and then he went 
back and rescued his sister and delivered his 
father’s castle from the besiegers.” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if he did,” answered 
the old artist. 

“ Well !” said Edith, her eyes wide open in 
surprise. “ I should like to know how Max 
knew the end of your story. Did he read it 
in your book ?” 

“ Well, no, little maiden ; we have neither 
of us seen it in a book, but we both happen 
to know somebody to whom some of these 
things happened.” 


MK WARRINGTON^ S STORY. 


149 


The great blue eyes grew larger as she ex- 
claimed, half fearfully, I always thought 
there were no such things as dragons and 
giants and enchantments, and now you and 
Max talk as though they were real live peo- 
ple/’ 

Mr. Warrington caressed the wondering 
face as he answered : 

There is a dragon called want of perse- 
verance that some of us have to fight, and a 
giant called carelessness that will enchant us 
so, if we are not on the watch, that we shall 
soon be bound hand and foot, and unable to 
help ourselves out of his cave of idleness.” 

How strange,” said Edith, for you and 
Max to know the person who has such 
troubles ! Do you know Meval too ?” 

I know a good many Mevals,” said Mr. 
Warrington. 

Well,” said George, who had not spoken 
since the end of the story, “ I’ll get a sword 
like Meval’s.” 

‘‘ Oh, mamma, where did you come from ?” 


150 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


interrupted Edith as a rustling of silk made 
them look toward the door. 

‘‘I shall have to confess/’ she answered, 
merrily. “Nobody invited me — indeed, I 
heard you say it was to be a party of just 
four — and of course I dare not intrude. I 
have been sitting in my arm-chair in the 
dining-room listening to the story.” 

“ And we thought you were at the mill all 
the time,” said Max. 

“ I think Mr. Warrington’s story was bet- 
ter entertainment than that,” she answered. 

“ So do I,” chimed in all three. 

“But come,” said Mrs. Wolberton; “there 
is a time, even on Christmas night, for little 
folks to go to bed.” 

George looked up surprised, yet pleased to 
be treated as a child. 

They followed Mrs. Wolberton to the par- 
lor, where she seated herself at the piano and 
began the full chords of the Christmas hymn, 
“ Hark, the herald angels sing.” 

Then, in beautiful, clear tones, her voice 


MR. WARRINGTON'S STORY. 


151 


rose with the music, joined by Mr. Warring- 
ton’s bass and the childish notes of Max and 
Edith. 

George listened like one suddenly trans- 
ported to a new world. The handsome suite 
of rooms, with all the added charm of 
flow’^ers and lights and rich decorations, were 
as unreal to him as the pictures in the fire 
or the wonders he had fancied to himself in 
the masses of clouds he so loved to watch as 
they went fioating by. 

The hymn was followed by a prayer, and 
then the good-nights were said. George was 
conducted to his room, where before long 
he fell asleep, and dreamed of journeying 
through a land more bright and beautiful 
than words could tell, while a bright angel 
was beckoning him on to new beauties, and 
ever, as he looked, the angel’s face was that 
of Mrs. Wolberton. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TEMPTATIONS. 

“ Poor indeed thou must be if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw, 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe.” 

HEN George awoke next morning, 
he did not find, as he had expected, 
that he was as well as ever. His 
head was dizzy when he tried to stand 
upon the floor, and he was compelled to lie 
down and be quiet again. 

Mrs. Wolberton was very much alarmed 
when she discovered it, but the doctor calmed 
her fears about the danger, though he seemed 
to think that the boy had been having too 
much excitement. 

George was deeply anxious about his moth- 
er, and begged so hard to be allowed to go to 
her that consent was at last given, and he 

152 



TEMPTATIONS. 


153 


was placed in Mr. Wolberton’s carriage and 
taken home. Just as he was about to leave 
the house he remembered the commission 
Mr. Wolberton had given him on Christmas, 
and which was still unfulfilled. 

He drew the order hastily from his pocket- 
book ; and coloring with disappointment that 
he had not been able to attend to it, he reach- 
ed it to Mr. Wolberton with an apology. 

You have no reason to make any excuses 
about it ; of course I knew you had not been 
able to attend to it, and arranged it myself 
yesterday. 

‘‘Let me see,” he added, “the order is 
drawn in your own name, I believe.” Then, 
placing it in George’s hand again, he said, 

“ Keep it for your own use until you are 
strong again, when I have some plans for 
you that you shall hear of in good time.” 

George began a protest, but Mr. Wolber- 
ton silenced him at once by saying that he 
had already procured another engineer until 
he was able to work again. 


154 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


Every one parted with George in the most 
affectionate manner. He had a depressed 
feeling, as if he were leaving home rather 
than going to it. Mrs. Savage had been so 
bowed down with grief at the thought of 
any evil befalling George that she welcomed 
him now as if he were brought back to her 
from the dead. 

Susan, after taking a pretty critical survey 
of him, and seeing very little difference from 
his usual appearance except extreme paleness, 
turned aw^ay quite vexed, grumbling to herself, 
There has been such an awful time about 
him a body might have thought he was half 
dead. If he’s going to lie around sick on 
the settee, I’d like to know how we are to get 
along.” 

George was so well used to Susan’s ill-tem- 
pered ways that at another time he would 
hardly have been conscious of them, but 
to-day they came upon him in a light in 
which he had never seen them before. The 
striking difference between the gentleness 


TEMPTATIONS. 


155 


and loving ways of Edith to Max, and the 
coarse tones and gross unkindness of his own 
sister, was painfully clear to him. He closed 
his eyes w’^earily as he lay upon the settee, 
and his mother thought him sleeping; but 
he was thinking sadly of his sister’s harsh 
words, and wondering whether his own words 
to her were unloving enough to call them 
forth. At all events, he would try to describe 
to her how lovely everything had been yes- 
terday, and mayhap it might do her some 
good. The more he thought of the delights 
he had just been enjoying, the more they 
became to him only visions of a bright 
happy world wholly different from the hard, 
real one in which he must always dwell. 
George could not bring himself yet to talk 
of all the kindness he had received, he 
dreaded so much that Susan would make 
some sharp comment that would arouse his 
anger. He opened his eyes at last, deter- 
mined to drive away the evil thoughts that 
were making him so unhappy. 


156 


LEAVES AND FRUIT, 


Little Annie, supposing he had just waked 
up, drew the little stool up beside the settee 
and began to talk. 

“ You ought to have seen the things at the 
mill,” she said. 

‘‘What things?” replied George, forget- 
ting in the recollections of his own pleasant 
time that there had been anything else. 

Mrs. Savage turned round from the table, 
where she was at work, when she heard that 
George was talking, and said, 

“ I’m almost sorry I let them go.” 

“ Oh yes, I remember,” said George. 
“ I heard them say they were going to have 
tableaux. What was it like? I could not 
understand what they meant.” 

“Why,” said Mrs. Savage, “I supposed 
it was to be a magic-lantern and such like, 
and I thought, as it was Christmas night, I’d 
let all the children go ; but when I came to 
get them ready, Mary and Jim had gone fast 
asleep alongside the tree. 

“ Susan was disappointed because I 


TEMPTATIONS. 


157 


wouldn’t let her go by herself. I was sorry, 
too, to have to keep her in for them, and I 
was trying to contrive some way to do it, 
when old Mrs. Loudon came in. 

“Says she, ‘You just go yourself and 
take the two of them, and I’ll stay here and 
mind the other children.’ That’s the way it 
come about, and I’d be glad enough now if 
I could undo it. Susan was crazy enough 
about fine clothes before, but her head is 
completely turned now with the fine dressing 
of the ladies.” 

Susan came up from the cellar just in time 
to catch the last four or five words of her 
mother’s speech, and her face brightened up 
at once with the recollection. 

“ It’s a real shame you did not see it,” said 
she, turning to George with a greater show of 
affection than she had exhibited since he 
came home. 

“ What was it like ?” he answered. 

Susan was putting water in the pan on the 
potatoes she had brought from the cellar to 


158 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


prepare for dinner, and now she carried them 
over near to George, and sat down with her 
pan in her lap to pare them and have her 
talk. 

“Oh, it was just the prettiest thing I 
ever saw in all my life,” she said, eagerly. 
“ They had a little place fixed up with cur- 
tains all around it, and after we had waited 
ever so long they rung a little bell, and Mr. 
Wolber ton’s Black John and Andrew Blake- 
man pulled back the curtains, and there was 
the prettiest girl you ever saw, with long 
light hair plaited down her back like a 
school-girl. Somebody said it was Miss 
Sunderland, that’s staying up at Wolberton’s, 
and she was holding a box with the most 
splendid necklace you ever saw. Just behind 
her the devil was looking over her shoulder, 
as though he was whispering in her ear, and 
in front of her there was a gentleman stand- 
ing and looking at her. Somebody said it 
was ‘ Margaret.’ ” 

“ Margaret who ?” asked George. 


TEMPTATIONS. 


159 


“That’s what I asked Jane Skinner, and 
she said she didn’t know, unless it was Queen 
Margaret; but I shouldn’t think queens 
would wear their hair like that.” 

“ But what did they do ?” said George. 

“ Why, nothing but stand still,” said Su- 
san. “ They didn’t even wink, I don’t be- 
lieve, for I never thought they were alive 
until they went to draw the curtains together, 
and then I saw the lady turn around before 
it was all shut up.” 

“ What is it all for ?” said George, who 
could not yet comprehend it. 

“ Why,” said Susan, with an air of superi- 
ority, feeling that she understood the doings 
of great folks much better than her brother, 
though he had spent the day amongst them, 
“what is any picture for? They’re just 
people making themselves into pictures, you 
know.” 

“ Was that it?” said George. “ Did you 
have any more ?” 

“ Oh yes. They showed us six, but the 


160 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


last one was the best of all ; it was just the 
splendidest thing I ever saw in all my life. 

“ Mother thinks it was wicked/’ she said, 
with an ill-suppressed sneer, but she always 
says something like that if Dr. Burrough 
isn’t mixed up in the thing. I’d just like 
to know where there was any harm in people 
dressing themselves and sitting or standing 
to be looked at ?” 

“ More harm than I care for you to get 
again,” said Mrs. Savage ; your head will be 
fuller than ever of vanity and nonsense, and 
the next thing I know you will be aping the 
manners and the dress, as far as you can, of 
these fine ladies.” 

It’s easy to talk about copying people’s 
dress, when I’ve hardly got a rag to my back. 
Goodness knows it wouldn’t take me long to 
get the clothes if I knew where to lay my 
hands on the money.” 

George was so anxious to avoid a scene 
with Susan that he hurried her back to the 
subject of the tableaux. 


TEMPTATIONS. 


161 


“ What was the last one ?” he said, 

‘‘ They called it ‘ Paradise and the Peer ’ or 
the ‘ Pyre ’ or something like that. It was all 
the ladies, dressed the loveliest of anything 
you could ever dream of. All the place 
seemed to be lighted up with the sparkle of 
their ear-rings and finger-rings. Mother 
says people don’t dress that way in Para- 
dise, she knows. I don’t suppose they do, 
but I’d give all the world to be able to dress 
that way just once in my life, to see how I 
looked.” 

‘‘Be still, you wicked, foolish child!” said 
Mrs. Savage, more sternly than she ever 
spoke. “ You’d give all the world, you say, 
for a few minutes’ foolish pleasure. Yes, I 
believe it. You are weak enough and wick- 
ed enough to barter everything you ought 
to hold dear in the world for some such pet- 
ty gratification that will work your ruin at 
last. Always and always it is the adorning 
of this sinful body of ours that is talked of, 
while no thought is given to the care of your 
11 


162 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


immortal soul. Yet what will you be able to 
give in exchange for it Susan looked very 
sulky at this reproof, and Mrs. Savage sighed 
at the prospect of trouble in store for her. 

Little Annie got up from her stool, and 
going over to her mother whispered in her 
ear. 

Mrs. Savage rose and went up stairs ; and 
when she came back, her hands were filled 
with parcels. Susan walked away indiffer- 
ently. 

These are the presents that Mrs. Wolber- 
ton sent us yesterday,’’ said Mrs. Savage. 
There were a black dress for Mrs. Savage, a 
soft blue merino like Edith’s for Susan, a 
warm cloth sacque for Annie, and some sub- 
stantial articles of dress for each of the other 
children. Underneath all was a box for 
George, in which he found, to his unfeigned 
surprise, the set of books he so much ad- 
mired. There was a little card within bear- 
ing his name, with Max’s best wishes for a 
happy Christmas. He was quite overcome at 


TEMPTATIONS. 


163 


these fresh evidences of his friend’s gene- 
rosity. Susan, however, seemed very little 
moved by her gift. George admired it, but 
only got in reply : 

‘‘ I hate blue ! While she was getting it 
she might as well have bought me a red one. 
I’ve just got that wretched old hat of mine 
trimmed up with red velvet, and I’d like to 
know how that and a blue frock will look to- 
gether? If I’m to wear the blue, I must 
have a new hat or I won’t wear either one.” 

It makes no difference,” said Mrs. Savage, 
with the quiet determination that she was 
beginning of late to show toward Susan. 
‘‘ The dress will not be wasted. I shall make 
it up for Annie, since you cannot wear it 
without the new hat, which I have no inten- 
tion of buying.” 

Susan had her usual refuge in a fit of ill 
temper. Slie began to bang things about 
most furiously — indeed, to such an extent 
that a knock on the front door was unheard. 

It was a great surprise, then, to all when 


164 


LEAVES ANI) FRUIT. 


the doctor pushed open the front door and 
appeared among them. 

This noise will never do,” he said as he 
noted George’s flushed face and quickened 
pulse, that told of fever. I should not have 
allowed him to come home if I had thought 
you would take no better care of him than 
this.” 

Susan was alarmed at the doctor’s words ; 
and for the rest of the day, though there 
was no sign of relenting in her voice, she 
forbore to make any other exhibition of 
her temper. 

George was on the invalid list for many 
days; and as, little by little, he described the 
events of that to him ever memorable Christ- 
mas day, the girl began to grow more tender 
in her feelings, and there was sometimes a 
little gleam of childishness in the place of 
the hard, rough manner that belongs to ma- 
turer years of sin. 

This was hopeful, and Susan was now at 
an age when a new influence of the right 


TEMPTATIONS. 


165 


kind often works a wondrous change. Per- 
haps, in God’s mercy, it was coming. 

George and his mother were alone togeth- 
er when he noticed that she was looking 
very despondent. He began to question her, 
until at last she said, 

I think I shall have to let Susan go back 
to the mill until you get well.” 

He had said nothing as yet to his mother 
about the money-order from Mr. Wolberton, 
for he had resolved to go back to his work, 
as usual, and not accept it. But when he 
saw that he must be ill for some days to come, 
he knew that this was out of the question. 
Taking the order from his pocket-book, he 
placed it in his mother’s hand, telling her 
how he had come by it. He did not add, 
what was in his mind, that it was only to be 
considered as a loan that one day he should 
fully repay. 

Every day since George’s return Edith 
had come to see him. Her pretty little bas- 
ket was always full of lovely flowers or de- 


166 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


licious fruit for him. The child seemed to 
take great delight in these visits. She would 
stay to the last minute her mother had allowed, 
talking about the pony, the pleasant holi- 
days and the funny tricks of the dog Skye. 
Her presence was like a sunbeam to all ex- 
cept Susan. 

The neat and tasteful dresses that Edith 
never thought of, because she never heard 
them commented upon, were a sore reminder 
to Susan of the worldly advantages that 
their visitor possessed. 

How pleasant it must be,’’ sighed Susan, 
‘Ho wear Sunday clothes every day in the 
week ! If I only could be rich and have all 
I want to wear, how beautiful I should be ! 
Everybody would like me, I’m sure.” 

Edith could not understand why it was 
that Susan did not like her, for the girl took 
no pains to conceal her displeasure. This 
wounded the child’s kindly, sensitive nature, 
and she tried to overcome Susan’s ill nature 
by marked friendliness. 


TEMPTATIONS. 


167 


“ Do you like pictures ?” she said, timidly, 
one day. ‘‘We have a lovely lot of new pic- 
ture-books. I’ll bring some down with me 
for you to see if you would like to look at 
them.” 

“ Thank you,” said Susan, grimly. “ Rich 
folks always do have all the nice things they 
want. I don’t care for pictures.” 

George was mortified beyond description 
at his sister’s rude words, but there was noth- 
ing for him to do but to try and make the 
child forget them by being more attentive 
to her himself. 

The little visitor prattled away to him of 
an aunt and a dear little cousin, Elsie Van 
Sant, who were coming, perhaps, to live with 
them. Elsie’s father had died, Edith told 
George — wasn’t it sad ? — and her own dear 
papa had just sent a letter to Aunt Lottie, 
telling her that she mus^ come to them, and 
perhaps she would come ; wouldn’t that be 
nice? Elsie was such a dear little thing 
she knew that George would love her. 


168 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


The (lay before new year Edith said that 
Max would stay all the afternoon with 
George. Mrs. Wolberton was coming, too, 
for a little while, for her visitors, who had 
been spending the week with lier, would all 
depart then and leave her free to look in 
upon George. George could hardly restrain 
his impatience to see Max, for since the be- 
ginning of their friendship they had not 
been apart so long. 

It was easy to see that Max had been quite 
as anxious for the meeting. He was not en- 
tirely recovered from the sprain yet, and he 
chafed constantly at the restraint put upon 
him in the way of walking. George had 
sent any number of messages about his books 
by Edith, but now he began again to tell 
Max himself what a prize they were, and 
how kind it was for them to remember him. 

‘‘ Now, just hold on there,” said Max. ‘‘ I’d 
like to know where the remembrance comes in' 
alongside of that present you brought me ?” 

This was the first mention that had been 


TEMPTATIONS. 


169 


made of the aquarium. George himself had 
forgotten it while he was at Mr. Wolberton’s ; 
and as Edith had made no mention of it 
when she came to see him, he concluded that 
something had happened to it on the porch. 

“ I told Edith she wasn’t to speak a word 
to you about it,” Max went on to say, “ for I 
wanted to tell you all myself. 

“You see John came along after he caught 
the pony that day, and he remembered that 
the bundle on the porch was yours. He 
brought it into the house, but everybody was 
so scared about you that nothing was said 
about it. The next morning after you had 
gone mother uncovered it, not knowing 
whose or what it was, and then she saw the 
paper you had put in it showing that it was 
for me. 

“There’s no use for you to go talking 
about what I did after that. Why, Mr. 
Warrington saw it just before he went home, 
and he said that it was the most artistically 
put together of anything of the kind he had 


170 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


ever seen. Think of that, and then don’t 
talk any more about my going to the store to 
buy you a book.” 

But,” said George, more than ever em- 
barrassed, I oughtn’t to have any credit for 
making it. You know I got the notion from 
what you said. I should not have had that 
much sense. Why, don’t you remember how 
it was at first ? Then you said if you had 
one you would do it this way. I only did 
what you said.” 

It’s all the same,” said Max. “ You did 
it, no matter where the idea came from. I 
knew I never should have had the jDatience 
for it. It makes me ashamed of myself 
every day to see the things you get done 
with the little time you have. I never ac- 
complish anything, and I’m sure I have lots 
of time. I never can do things like other 
people.” 

'' That’s always the way you talk,” said 
George. ‘'Why, you’ve more brains than 
anybody I know. You can do a sight more 


TEMPTATIONS. 


171 


than other people, if you only think so. I’m 
sure, if I had your brains, I wouldn’t ask for 
anything else.” 

Max laughed heartily. “ Brains or no 
brains,” he said, ‘‘you’ll do more in the 
world than I shall ; but, after all, I don’t see 
what would be gained by it if I should ‘ work 
and worry,’ as John says.” Turning abrupt- 
ly from the discussion. Max added, 

“ I’m going to tell you a secret. Father 
gave me permission to speak of it to-day. 
We’ve got another engineer in your place.” 

“ I know that,” said George ; “ your father 
told me.” 

“ Yes, I suppose you do,” said Max, awk- 
wardly, as though he did not know how to 
get on. “ Do you know that father is not 
going to put you back to run the engine 
again ?” 

For a minute George gazed in stupid won- 
der, and then the hot tears of mortification 
at being discharged in such a way blinded 
his eyes and mastered him totally. 


172 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


‘‘ Why, what is the matter ?” said Max, 
never thinking how his words could be taken. 
‘‘ I didn’t think you would be sorry.” 

‘^Didn’t think I would be sorry?” said 
George, more angry with Max than he had 
ever been before. “ Why, what are we to 
do ? We’ll be next door to starvation before 
I can get any other work.” 

‘‘ That’s not the way of it,” said Max, 
quite relieved, but blundering worse than 
ever to try to get at the right way. I’ll tell 
you what I mean : father says you’ve got 
all the elements of true manhood in you 
— those are just his words — and he means to 
educate you. The money will be paid to 
your mother each week just the same as if 
you were at work in the mill, and you are to 
go to school.” 

How good he is !” said George. I can- 
not take it, though ; it would not be right for 
any one else to be supporting my mother 
and the rest when I am strong enough to 
do it.” 


TEMPTATIONS. 


173 


Father said he expected you would make 
objections, but you must learn to look at it in 
the right way. He says if you get the ed- 
ucation — though it looks now as if you were 
losing time — that you will be able to do more 
for them in one year then than you could in 
ten if you go on this way. He says you 
needn’t consider it a gift. He will do it for 
you now, and then, when you are able, you 
can pay it back.” 

George’s heart was too full for words ; and 
overcome by weakness from his illness as 
well as the tumult of feeling, he turned his 
face to the wall, and hiding it in his pil- 
lows sobbed like a baby. He was as much 
ashamed of this show of feeling as if Max 
had detected him in some wrong-doing, and 
he roused himself in a few minutes and 
tried to talk. Max had as much as he could 
manage to hide his own feelings, and it was 
a relief to both when the carriage came to 
take Max liome. 

Mrs. Savage was overwhelmed with grat- 


174 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


itude when she came to hear the good for- 
tune that had befallen George. Her feel- 
ings were rather those of pleasure than sur- 
prise, for she held her son to be so far supe- 
rior to other boys that it was only natural for 
a man of Mr. Wolberton’s keen observation 
and kindly heart to discover and reward it. 
She began at once to make her plans for the 
future ; for of course she agreed with George 
that the money advanced must all be paid 
back some day. The loving mother deter- 
mined that every possible economy should 
be practiced, so that when the day of pay- 
ment did arrive it should come upon him as 
lightly as possible. 

When Mrs. Wolberton called, she ex- 
plained that George was to be entered in the 
same school with Max. This was a new ob- 
ligation, for George had expected nothing 
more than the advantages offered by the pub- 
lic school in the village. 

Mrs. Wolberton said that George had 
been so earnest in his studies, and so anx- 


TEMPTATIONS. 


175 


ious to advance rapidly, that if he kept on 
in the same spirit he would finish the course 
prescribed in the school in much less time 
than was usually required. Max, she said, 
would finish there in a year and a half, and 
then he should go to college. 

A wild desire came into George’s mind to 
work with might and main to try to come 
out at the same time with Max. For what? 
he asked himself the next moment. Surely 
not to put his friend to shame ; he loved him 
far too well for that. Besides, what right 
had he to entertain such a wish, when Max 
was so far ahead of him and rarely gifted? 
He came back to the sober reality again that 
he was going to make the very best use that 
he could of the rare advantages placed be- 
fore him, that he was no genius, but simply 
a boy of very moderate abilities, but that what- 
ever patience and perseverance could accom- 
plish he would be sure to do. 

He thanked Mrs. Wolberton for their 
great kindness, but his words were very few. 


176 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


The lady understood his silence quite as well 
as his words, and began to talk of other 
things. She told him laughingly that the 
doctor had prescribed another medicine for 
him, and that she should send the carriage 
for him next day to come and take it by 
paying her a visit. 

She was on the point of asking Mrs. 
Savage’s permission for Susan to come too as 
the girl passed by her and went out into the 
yard. Before many minutes, however, a 
sharp voice was heard outside in scolding, 
and soon little James came in to his mother 
with the complaint that Susan had slapped 
him. The child was soon soothed, but Mrs. 
Wolberton, having no wish to bring the 
fierce-tempered girl in contact with her own 
daughter, rose to go without taking any notice 
of Susan. 

How little Susan knew that her sharp 
words and angry actions prevented the very 
thing she was longing to gain ! She had 
been hoping ever since she knew the lady 


TEMPTATIONS. 


177 


was coming that some notice would be taken 
of her, and then what might not come from 
it? But she had passed and repassed in 
vain. Mrs. Wolberton had not seemed to 
be aware of her presence until in angry dis- 
appointment James was made the victim of 

his sister’s displeasure. 

12 


CHAPTER IX. 

GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 

“And soon or late a time will come 
When witnesses that now are dumb 
With grateful eloquence shall tell 
From whom the seed there scattered fell.” 

AX came in the carriage for George 
the next morning, and the boys be- 
gan at once to talk of school. 

To go to school had been the one 
dream of George’s life ever since he could 
think and plan. Before his father died he 
had been sent during the winter ; but when 
he was left at the head of the helpless family, 
school was so entirely out of the question 
that he had come to look upon himself as a 
man whose chances for education were gone 

^y- 

Edith welcomed George with as much de- 



178 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


179 


light as if he were her playmate. He was 
so fond of her and took such an interest in 
all her games that she might well so look 
upon him. 

Mr. Wolberton’s was the only house in 
Wingohocken except those for the factory 
operatives, so that Edith and Max were de- 
pendent on each other for company. Visitors 
came sometimes from Cooperstown, but that 
was two miles ofiP, and the intercourse could 
not be very constant. It was quite natural, 
then, that Edith should adopt many of Max’s 
ways of being amused, and that he in turn 
should leave the rougher plays of boys to 
accommodate himself to her. 

Edith never was boisterous or rude, but 
she found little pleasure in such girls’ work 
as dressing dolls and the like. Max was to 
her the embodiment of everything that was 
handsome, clever and wonderful, and no prop- 
osition for enjoyment that he made to her 
was lightly passed over. One of their pas- 
times was to make excursions to the woods. 


180 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Max was a passionate lover of wild flowers. 
At flrst lie only gathered them from admira- 
tion, but after a while he was seized with a 
desire to study botany. By way of begin- 
ning, he begged his father to buy him a botan- 
izing box. Armed with their green box, the 
two would start off to the woods for specimens. 
Edith flitted around from place to place until 
she had gathered all her hands could grasp, 
and then, bringing her treasures to Max, she 
would sit down with her hands folded in her 
lap, quietly watching to see which he would 
pronounce worth keeping. 

While full of this notion Max regarded it 
as quite beneath his dignity to make bou- 
quets. It was well enough, he said, for girls 
who were not studying. So Edith used to 
gather up what he cast aside and bring them 
home for her vases. It always happened, 
though, that they found their way into Max’s 
hands for arrangement, and that he was not 
at all averse to having them where he could 
see them when they reached home. 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


181 


The botanical enthusiasm, like all the rest 
of the boy’s projects, had its day. The her- 
barium which he began to arrange with so 
much pleasure took its place on a high shelf 
in his workshop amongst a host of other pet 
hobbies that had been laid aside until he 
should find time to finish them. 

Edith was ready to take pleasure in the 
new plans, whatever they might be. She 
stood on the porch, waiting and watching for 
the two boys, eager for anything they might 
suggest. Her holiday was nearly over. This 
was to be the last of the Christmas gayeties, 
and to-morrow she must begin the old rou- 
tine of studies with her governess. She 
would have liked it well that holidays should 
last all the year, for the little damsel had the 
same ease- loving nature as her brother Max ; 
but along with it she had the habit of un- 
questio7iing obedience. This made her accept 
whatever her parents arranged for her to do 
as the thing she would do with her might. 

“ You’re not sick now any more, are you, 


182 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


George?” she shouted as soon as they came 
in at the gate. It’s such a splendid day to 
coast, and the hill is perfect ; let’s all go and 
have a good time.” 

‘‘ Max will hurt his foot again if he goes,” 
said George, in a regretful tone, as he thought 
of the magnificent sledding. 

“ But you can take me, won’t you, George ?” 

George could not have withstood the coax- 
ing for something much more disagreeable 
than sledding, but Mrs. Wolberton’s quick 
ear caught the request, and she very soon 
put her veto upon it. In a moment Edith 
was full of shame that she had been so selfish 
in overlooking George’s unfitness to take her, 
and she stood by until the boys themselves 
should settle upon the amusement for the 
day. 

Max had several plans that were not alto- 
gether to his fancy, but which might serve 
for want of a better, when suddenly he con- 
ceived the bright idea of making a scrap- 
book of funny things. This suited all three. 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


183 


and the magazines and illustrated papers in 
which the house abounded were brought out 
at once. 

As soon as they were fairly at work, Max, 
who could never by any possibility go on in 
a beaten track, proposed that two scrap-books 
should be made, one of funny pictures and 
the other of small jokes. 

Let’s make the jokes first,” said Edith. 
‘‘We can read them as we go along, and have 
lots of fun.” 

“ No,” said Max, “ I don’t like that way. 
I’ll arrange the pictures while you do the 
other one.” 

“ Well, that will do,” said Edith, and she 
began at once to clip the scraps, reading and 
laughing with the greatest zest. George was 
as happy as Edith, and so much were they 
all interested in their work that when lunch 
was brought they would not take time to 
eat it. 

Max had worked on in perfect silence. 
Now and then, when Edith would demand 


184 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


his attention to something she thought irre- 
sistibly funny, he would look up and listen in 
an absent way that told very plainly that his 
tlioughts were not with her. At last she 
stopped teasing him, and she and George 
took their laughs quite forgetful of him. 

There !” said Edith, finally ; ‘‘ that’s just 
all the book will hold, and it’s perfectly 
splendid.” 

She was in her favorite position, on her 
knees on a chair before the table. She 
looked over her day’s work admiringly. 

Now let’s see yours,” she said, turning 
with a deep breath of satisfaction to look at 
Max’s work. 

There’s nothing to see yet,” he answered. 

I want mine to be done exactly right. I’m 
not going to put pictures in in that hit-or- 
miss fashion.” 

Why,” said Edith, with a look of disap- 
pointment at what a moment before had 
seemed so near perfection, I didn’t know 
there was any other way to do it.” 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


185 


‘‘ Why, to be sure,’’ said George ; I might 
have known that it would be better to sort 
them all out before we began. You always 
see straight to the end before you begin.” 

But,” said Edith, who was coming back 
to her admiration of their work, I don’t see 
any use of seeing straight to the end if you 
never get to the end. Max’s book isn’t any- 
thing like done, and maybe he’ll never finish 
it, and we have ours all ready to read w^hen- 
ever we have a mind.” 

I can get mine done most any time 
now,” said Max, with a little air of supe- 
riority ; and I’m sure you’ll say then that it 
was better not to be in such a hurry.” 

I don’t know,” said Edith, persistently. 

Your papers will all get mixed up by the 
time you want them, and then you won’t 
feel like sorting them over, and — and then 
you may never make one. I think I would 
rather have ours, even if it isn’t perfect. 
Wouldn’t you, George ?” 

George, however, was not quite of Edith’s 


186 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


way of thinking. He did not like to feel 
that his work was not well done. He looked 
on admiringly at the way Max was succeed- 
ing until the dinner-bell summoned them to 
the dining-room. 

George’s pleasure was dampened at once 
in view of the trying ordeal of dinner. If 
he could only have made his excuse and 
taken his departure, he would have rejoiced 
heartily. Old Hr. Burrough was already 
at the table, and George felt before many 
minutes that any blunders he might make 
would pass unseen, so much were the elder 
people interested in the good clergyman’s 
talk. 

Mr. Wolberton was not really a Christian 
man, though, in more than the ordinary 
sense, he was possessed of religious feeling. 
He was devotedly attached to Hr. Burrough, 
and his purse was always open to the pastor’s 
appeals for help in carrying on good works. 
Yet he was content to work through others. 
Like the hearer of Paul’s eloquence, he was 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


187 


almost persuaded to be a Christian ; but 
when he thought of the sacrifices involved, 
he shrank from the self-denial, and satisfied 
his conscience by more liberal donations of 
his ample means. 

Dr. Burrough’s charge was at Coopers- 
town, the nearest point beyond. There was 
no church in Wingohocken. Mr. Wolber- 
ton had felt that some place of worship 
ought to be provided for his people, but the 
convenient season for attending to it had 
never arrived. During his father’s lifetime 
there had been regular services in the mill, 
but since the property had come into the 
hands of the present proprietor the interest 
in such things had gradually died out. 
Clergymen came very irregularly to hold 
the services, and of course the people were 
not likely to be more faithful. 

Mr. Wolberton began to feel some respon- 
sibility about this indifference after Dr. 
Burrough came to Cooperstown, for the good 
old man had not been slow to speak when he 


188 


LEAVES AND FRVIT. 


saw that reproof was needed. He reminded 
Mr. Wolberton of the good or evil that rested 
in his hands, and stirred him up to some 
earnestness by himself setting the example. 

I am coming every Sabbath afternoon to 
preach for you,’’ said the doctor ; and he was 
as good as his word. 

Mr. Wolberton, for his part, was anxious 
that these services should be properly attend- 
ed, and as he passed through the office on 
Saturday evening, when the foreman was pay- 
ing the men, he stopped and said, 

“ Dr. Burrough will be over to preach to- 
morrow. I wish you would all try to be 
there. Will you ?” 

Not as I knows on,” was the answer from 
the foremost ; ‘‘ I ain’t got more’n one day in 
the week to myself, an’ I don’t think I’ll 
spend it sittin’ in church.” 

The man grinned, and went on in a half- 
familiar, half-deprecating way : 

See here, boss ! You don’t know nothing 
about it. You jump in your carriage and 


GLIMPSES OF CHABACTEB. 


189 


ride off to Cooperstown of a Sunday morn- 
ing, and youVe nothin’ to look after, but just 
take it easy. I don’t know as I’d object my- 
self to goin’ to church that way. It’s kind of 
pastime. But you see this thing is different. 
I never heard Parson Burrough, but he’s like 
all the rest, I s’pose, and I don’t take no 
special pleasure in none of ’em. Seein’ as 
the preachin’ ain’t sandwiched in between a 
couple of rides, I guess I won’t take none. 
The young ones goes to Sunday-school ; and 
if they want to stay to the preachin’, I ain’t 
nothin’ to say ag’in’ that, so you see we’ll 
get it in the family, after all.” 

Mr. Wolberton saw that remonstrance was 
hopeless, and, more than that, he felt that it 
would come with a very ill grace from one 
who had much to do in taking heed to his 
own ways. More forcibly than ever did the 
consciousness press upon him that in neglect- 
ing his own salvation he had failed to fulfill 
his duty to his people. The words of the 
wise man came to him like a haunting mem- 


190 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


ory: ‘‘There is a way that seemetli right 
unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways 
of death/’ 

He was gloomy and dispirited the next 
day when he went to church at Cooperstown, 
and the doctor’s earnest exhortations touched 
the proprietor with a sense of personal injury, 
as if he had been made the subject of the 
sermon. Mr. Wolberton had arranged for 
the doctor to return with him to dine at 
Wingohocken before ofBciating there. They 
were scarcely seated in the carriage before 
Mr. Wolberton said, abruptly, 

“We ought to have as good a church in 
Wingohocken as at this place. I think I 
shall build one.” 

Whether he thought this would put a stop 
to any personal admonition I cannot say. 
But he certainly made a great mistake if he 
expected to dazzle the good doctor by the 
splendor of his propositions. There was very 
little enthusiasm in the tone with which Dr. 
Burrough answered, 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER, 


191 


It is a good work. Will you provide a 
clergyman too?’^ lie added, a little more 
grimly. 

“ Why, of course,” was the answer. 
“There is no use of a church without a 
preacher, and there’s no one to provide for 
his support but me.” 

Mr. Wolberton dreaded more of the doc- 
tor’s plain speaking, and he talked on as 
hastily as possible about the advantage it 
would be to his people to have a clergyman 
living amongst them. 

The doctor listened quietly ; and when, at 
last, Mr. Wolberton paused, he said solemnly, 
“Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift is 
like clouds and winds without rain.” 

“ You are rather severe,” said Mr. Wol- 
berton, haughtily. “ Pardon me for saying 
that I do not see the application of your re- 
mark. The money is my own to give or with- 
hold. I choose to give. Where is it ^ false’?” 

“Is it because the love of Christ con- 
straineth you ?” 


192 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


“ Nonsense, doctor ! I can have none but 
a good motive in doing such a work, though, 
to tell the truth, I am not conscious of any 
special feeling except a desire to please my 
wife, whose continued ill-health deprives her 
of the greatest enjoyment of her life — going 
to church. Of course I have these people 
on my conscience too, and I must try to 
throw some Christianizing influence around 
them, or the next thing I’ll know they will 
be drinking and rioting.” 

There was no time now for more words. 
The carriage was already rolling through the 
grounds, and in a moment the doctor was 
greeted by Mrs. Wolberton. 

No further allusion was made that day to 
the proprietor’s proposition, but you may be 
sure the doctor did not forget it ; and though 
he had taken it so quietly, he was fully bent 
upon seeing it carried out when the gift, 
through the giver, should be more worthy 
the Master’s acceptance. 

It was more than a year since this conver- 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


193 


satioii liad taken place, and in all tliis time 
the fiiithful minister had been laboring 
amongst the people at Wingohocken, awak- 
ening in them the sense that each of them 
must do a share in this work for Christ. 
Every house in the place had felt the influ- 
ence of his earnestness, and in more than one 
had he found a ready response to his appeal 
for help. The people began to look upon 
the building of the church as sometliing in 
which they were privileged sharers. Instead 
of hearing with stupid indifference that Mr. 
Wolberton meant to build a church for them, 
they worked for it themselves with the feel- 
ing that it would belong to them as no 
church ever had before. 

On the day in which the children had 
been making the scrap-books the doctor had 
appeared, by special invitation from Mr. 
Wolberton, to talk over some drawings of the 
new building and discuss the matter gener- 
ally. Max was somewhat constrained in his 
manner when he greeted the doctor, and the 

13 


194 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


cause became fully apparent when the pastor 
said, 

How is it, Max, that you are not taking 
any more interest in the Sunday-school 

The Sunday-school had been established 
by Mrs. Wolberton when she saw how 
lamentably the church interest was decreas- 
ing. Her health failed, so that she was 
compelled to give up much of her work in 
it, but at her solicitation three ladies came 
from Cooperstown each week and carried on 
the school. 

For three years they had been laboring 
almost unaided, and it would have been no 
wonder if they had given up in despair, so 
hopeless seemed the task. The boys were 
rude and the girls coarse, yet the earnest 
teachers cherished the injunction, In the 
morning sow thy seed, and in the evening 
withhold not thy hand ; for thou knowest 
not whether shall prosper either this or that, 
or whether they both shall be alike good.” 

Max had been roused into some little en- 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


195 


tliusiasm by his mother’s earnestness, and he 
jindertook to be librarian in the Sunday- 
school. 

For a while he found it quite interesting 
to sort over the books, keep an account of 
them and distribute them to the scholars, 
but it ceased to be charming when the books 
were no longer new to the children and they 
began to complain that this one wasn’t pret- 
ty and they had read that one, this one was 
dry and that one was a baby-book, and they 
did wish there was something new. 

He would have left his post entirely but 
for his mother’s commands. As it was, his 
habits of obedience were too strong to allow 
him to violate her injunction ; yet whenever 
there was the least pretext for absenting him- 
self, he was sure to avail himself of it if 
possible. 

AVhen the doctor put the question. Max was 
thoroughly confused : 

‘‘ I’m of no use down there that I can see, 
doctor. They are such an awfully rough 


196 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


set that I don’t see much use in trying to 
keep up a Sunday-school. If it would 
amount to anything, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“ You are too soon weary in well-doing,” 
said the pastor, gently. I thought you 
would prove one of my most earnest helpers 
in the missionary work.” 

“ I don’t stay away so often,” said Max, by 
way of apology. Then, ashamed of having 
tried to appear better than he really was, he 
added, 

“ Not that I think that is anything to boast 
of, for I only go to please mother. Why, if 
you would just see the way they behave, I 
think you would be discouraged too. They 
are as heathenish now as they were the first 
day I went there. Of course 1 haven’t any- 
thing to do with the teaching, hut the others 
work so hard to do them good, and I don’t see 
that one child there is any better for it. I 
don’t believe in Sunday-schools.” 

Max’s words went to his father’s heart 
with a new pain. With a vividness as of 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


197 


the lightning’s flash he saw the seeds that 
his own want of piety had implanted bring- 
ing forth in his son’s life the noxious growth 
of irreligion that might at last be infldelity. 

That will never do,” said the doctor, 
brightly, for you to jump over the difliculty 
in that way. You say you do not approve 
of Sunday-schools, when, as far as I can un- 
derstand, your only experience has been in 
this one. It seems to me it would be better 
for you to go on and try to make the Sunday- 
school so that you could approve of it.” 

I haven’t anything to do with it in that 
way,” said Max. 

Indeed !” said the doctor, dryly ; then I 
am inclined to think that I do not believe in 
this Sunday-school, either.” 

Max looked up surprised at first, but as he 
caught the sparkle of pleasantry in the doc- 
tor’s eyes, he said, 

‘‘ I suppose you mean that I ought to do 
something to make the school better ?” 

‘"Yes,” said the doctor; ^'I mean just 


198 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


that. If you do your work there conscien- 
tiously and faithfully, good is sure to come 
of it.’’ 

But I’m not a teacher,” said Max. “ I’m 
only the librarian. There’s not much that I 
could do to make them better.” 

There is just the mistake you make. Do 
you suppose that the boys of your own age 
who go there will not feel that there is some 
higher and deeper meaning in your work 
than the mere handing out of books if they 
see you at your post without fail each ses- 
sion ? It is as easy for them to see as for 
you to feel that the work itself is uninter- 
esting to you.” 

I never looked at it in that way, sir,” 
said Max, or I would not have spoken as 
I did.” 

‘'Probably not,” said the doctor; “yet 
you remember you began the work with a 
very zealous feeling that you were going to 
have a model school. Try to get back the 
old ardor, will you, and help us to make the 


GLIMPSES OF CHARACTER. 


199 


school one in which everybody will be- 
lieve?’’ 

“ I’ll try, sir,” was the response, rather 
faintly given. Then, turning to George, who 
was beside him, he added in a still lower 
tone, 

‘‘You see Mr. Warrington was right about 
the swords. I’ll get the other one before it 
is too late.” 

George had the most devoted admiration 
for Max, and of course was unwilling to see 
this defect in his friend’s character. Then, 
too, he was too young to understand how 
entirely it would undermine all his useful- 
ness ; and it must be owned, if George had 
expressed his views about the doctor just 
then, he would have said that Max had been 
rather hardly dealt with. 

When the two boys were alone together 
after dinner, no allusion was made to the 
talk, and George went home impressed with 
admiration at the way in which Max had 
accepted reproof. 


CHAPTER X. 


JANE SKINNER'S PARTY. 

“ Fair guardian of domestic life, 

Kind banisher of home-bred strife, 
Nor sullen lip nor trembling eye 
Deforms the scene when thou art by.” 



OW dingy and comfortless everything 


appeared to George after 


leaving the brightness at Mr. Wol- 


berton’s ! The one little oil lamp cast 
an uncertain light over the frugal supper- 
table, around which they were all seated 
when George returned. 

Yet it was Susan’s sullenness, rather than 
the contrast between the luxury and poverty 
of the two homes, that gave the boy such a 
sense of gloom and depression. 

Mrs. Savage’s face always lighted up when 
her son came near her, and whatever might 


200 


JANE SKINNER’S PARTY. 


201 


be his own mood he made the effort to be 
cheerful for her sake. 

I’m glad you came home before we fin- 
ished supper/’ she s^id. 

I am not a bit hungry, mother. AVe 
just had dinner before I left.” 

Dinner !” exclaimed Susan, who had not 
spoken before, and who was glad to get hold 
of something to scold about; ‘‘I’d like to 
know what people want with dinner at this 
time of day ?” 

George made no answer, but took up Mary, 
who had just slid away from the table to him. 
He was trying hard to keep back the anger 
that was rising in his heart as he foresaw 
the tirade which Susan was about to begin. 
He determined to say nothing more before 
her of his friends or their ways. But Su- 
san’s mind was filled with a sense of her own 
injuries from having been denied permission 
to go to a party at Jane Skinner’s, so that 
she was all the more vexed to see that George 
had been having a day of enjoyment. She 


202 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


had no intention of being stopped in her 
talk because he chose to be silent. 

‘‘ I always thought till now that you had 
some spirit/’ she said to George. 

I wish you would let me alone,” he re- 
torted, angrily, forgetting his resolution. I 
don’t know what you mean, and, what is more, 
I don’t care.” 

No, I suppose not,” she ' answered. 
“ People who live on charity mostly don’t 
care.” 

What are you bringing that up for 
again ?” said Mrs. Savage, querulously. I 
told you he shouldn’t be worried with it.” 

The angry color rose in George’s face at 
once as he said, 

‘‘ Who’s living on charity, I’d like to 
know ?” 

“ Why, we are, and you have no more 
spirit than to take it and be very thankful. 
Some people have a mighty nice way of fix- 
ing things to suit themselves,” pursued Susan. 
“ When I was in the mill, you used to talk 


JANE SKINNEE’S PARTY. 


203 


big enough about not taking money if you 
didn’t earn it, and that it wasn’t honest to 
be losing time and then get paid all the same 
as if you’d worked. I’d like to know what 
you are getting paid for nowadays, dressing 
up in your Sunday clothes every day in the 
week, and parading up there among the rich 
folks just as if you belonged with them ?” 

“I wish you would be quiet,” said Mrs. 
Savage, in a weary tone, as though she had 
borne the strife until she was utterly broken 
down. George never would talk to you 
so.” 

Good reason why,” retorted the angry 
girl ; I never give him an occasion. You 
wouldn’t get me to live off of other people 
that way. They won’t support me long, 
that’s certain. I’m going to get work in the 
mill and take care of myself. I don’t care 
what any of you say about it. I’m not going 
to have people go on talking this way about 
us.” 

Who is it that’s talking ?” said George. 


204 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


I’d like to know what they have to say, 
too.” 

Why,” answered Susan, everybody says 
the boss has taken you out of charity to send 
you to school, and that he is going to keep 
us all while you are learning enough to be 
something grand after a while.” 

How do they know it ?” said George, 
harshly. ^^Mr. Wolberton told me that 
there was no need for the mill-people to 
know anything about how our affairs were 
arranged.” 

You needn’t take my head off that way. 
I never told anybody but Jane Skinner. 
She said she didn’t believe it would last long. 
Mr. Wolberton wdll show himself off and 
make believe to be mighty generous for a 
while, but she says if you’ve got the spirit 
you ought to have you won’t go on that way 
much longer.” 

‘‘ I thought the talk was all with you and 
Jane Skinner,” he said, half under his breath. 
“ It will come back to Mr. Wolberton before 


JANE SKINNER’S PARTY. 


205 


long, and then he will think I do not know 
how to hold my tongue. What business had 
you to tell Jane Skinner?’’ 

Come, come, children !” said the mother ; 
‘^you must stop this sparring. I am very 
grateful to Mr. Wolberton for what he is 
doing, and perfectly willing to accept it, too. 
I don’t want it to be called charity, for we 
shall pay it back some day. I think you 
ought to have more affection for your brother 
than to let Jane Skinner talk about him and 
us that way.” 

Of course,” said Susan, you take 
George’s part. Jane Skinner didn’t say 
anything amiss that I know of. It’s easy to 
see how our George is set up with having the 
people up there take notice of him. Noth- 
ing is good enough for him at home now. 
For my part, I think it’s a good deal more 
to our credit to keep where we belong, in- 
stead of hanging on to folks above us. I in- 
tend to get work.” 

When Susan reached this point, what was' 


206 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


her surprise to hear her mother say in her 
quietest and most determined tone, 

‘‘ I intend you shall get to work very soon. 
I spoke of you to Dr. Burrough when he 
was here, and he will look for a place for 
you in the country at service.’’ 

In perfect astonishment Susan dropped 
the plate she was wiping and fairly shrieked, 
service ! Do you think I am going 
to be anybody’s hired girl ? Nothing is good 
enough for George, but you want to send me 
ofiP to work in somebody’s kitchen.” 

Susan was fairly wild with anger. She 
had used wicked words of passion to her 
mother before, but now she made no attempt 
at self-control, and she poured forth a torrent 
of abuse such as she had never before ven- 
tured upon. 

Susan had been in the habit of spending 
herself in these angry outbursts without any 
interruption from her mother. What was 
her surprise, then, when her mother, after 
having left the room, returned suddenly with 


JANE SKINNER’S PARTY. 


207 


a rod and administered to lier a sound whip- 
ping ? It would have been hard to tell what 
was her mood afterward ; certainly not a 
penitent one, though she walked off to her 
room very quietly. 

The other children had been sent to bed 
immediately after su23per, so that George and 
his mother were left alone. Mrs. Savage ap- 
pealed to George for advice as though he were 
a man. Poor George was so grieved and 
troubled that he knew not what to advise. 

I did not know you had any notion of 
putting her out at service,’’ he said. 

I cannot really say that I had the notion 
until to-night. She has worried me so much 
of late that when Dr. Burrough came the 
other day, I talked to him about it. It was 
his idea, but I could not bring myself then 
to think of letting her leave me. I believe 
now that for her sake I must do it.” 

I am not so sure of that, mother,” said 
George. ‘‘She says she would run away, 
and you know what she is if she makes uj) 


208 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


her mind to anything. She could do it easy 
enough. There are plenty of little towns 
around here where she might get work in 
the factories, and we would never hear of her 
again if she saw fit to hide from us.’’ 

‘‘ I suppose you are right,” said Mrs. Sav- 
age, “ but I am sure I cannot see what there 
is left to do with her. She is growing more 
wicked and hardened every day she lives 
here. I have done my best to keep her out 
of bad company, but it is all to no purpose. 
Every time she goes outside of the door she 
is sure to come across Jane Skinner. Jane 
is much older, and suggests things she never 
would think of alone. If I only could get 
her to see that there w^as something to live 
for besides fine clothes !” murmured the 
mother. 

Long the mother and son talked, but they 
were no nearer in the end to making the evil 
right. 

‘‘We need more than anything else, moth- 
er,” said George, “ to pray for a ‘ right judg- 


JANE SKINNER’S PARTY. 209 

ment in all things.’ It seems to me that I 
am doing wrong to accept all that Mr. Wol- 
herton offers, when we might, perhaps, if I 
kept myself free to act, go away from here 
and live where she would have no acquaint- 
ances and would have a better chance to 
tnrn from her evil ways.” 

‘‘ No,” said Mrs. Savage. I am sure that 
is not the best thing to do. God has put it 
into Mr. Wolberton’s heart to do this for you, 
and I am confident his blessing will go with 
its fulfillment. We must do the best we can 
with her, and then commend her to God, to 
whom all things are possible,” 

George kissed away the tears from his 
mother’s face; and taking the lamp, they 
both went up stairs. At the first landing 
they heard Annie’s voice calling from her 
room in the attic : 

“Mother, mother! Isn’t it most time for 
Susan to come to bed ? I’m so cold up here 
by myself so long.” 

]\Irs. Savage grew pale as she remembered 

14 - 


210 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


the girFs threat, and she hurried up stairs 
to make herself certain that Susan was not 
in the room. One glance was sufficient. 
Annie was wide awake, and when she saw 
her mother’s look of alarm took in the state 
of things at once. 

I guess she went to Jane Skinner’s par- 
ty,” she said. 

The party had gone out of Mrs. Savage’s 
mind entirely in the first fright, but she felt 
at once that Annie was right. George put 
on his coat hastily and hurried out over the 
newly-fallen snow, while Mrs. Savage stood 
gazing out of the low window on the stair- 
way, which was yet open, and where the 
footprints on the shed beneath were still 
visible. 

Annie’s guess was right. There was Susan 
in the midst of a party of rude boys and 
girls, who were making some awkward imita- 
tion of the tableaux at the mill on Christmas 
evening. 

How little did any of the gay, thouglit- 


JANE SKINNER'S PARTY. 


211 


less Christmas party dream of the evil seeds 
they were scattering broadcast that evening ! 
They only meant to please and be pleased, 
and in that they were eminently successful. 
But could they have looked a little deeper 
to see the envy and longing for rich attire 
that was created by that evening’s exhibition, 
I think there was no one there who would 
have been willing to take a part in it. 

Susan’s face grew pale when she caught 
sight of her brother ; but determined to carry 
a brave face throughout, she refused to yield 
to him and go home. Her friends, however, 
were not at all urgent to have her stay after 
his appearance. He was not a companion to 
their mind, and the entertainment flagged 
considerably after he sat down. 

It was soon very plain to Susan that she 
was not welcome if George meant to wait. 
She kept up her air of bravado ; but flnding 
that no one was disposed to be cordial, she 
walked up to George with a great efibrt at 
being funny, and said. 


212 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


“ I should think, Mr. George Savage, that 
you could see that your room is better than 
your company. Since you are afraid to go 
home. I’ll take you.” 

She hastily put on her hat and shawl, and 
then, gayly bidding them all good-night, she 
went out into the darkness with George. 
Neither spoke a word until they reached 
home, when Susan said, 

‘‘ Who told you where to find me ?” 

George made no answer, but stayed to 
fasten the door, while she went on to her 
room. 

Mrs. Savage met her at the top of the 
stairs, but the girl’s bold look of defiance 
thrilled the mother’s heart with a keener 
sorrow, and each turned away from the other 
without a word. 


CHAPTER XI. 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ Ah ! well I mind me of the days, 

Still bright in memory’s flattering rays, 
When all was fair and new ; 

When knaves were only found in books. 
And friends were known by friendly looks. 
And love was always true.” 



first day of February bad come at 
last, and George with Max was seated 
in the cars on the way to school. He 


^ was in a fever of expectation and de- 
light. He turned over the two books Max 
carried, Euclid and a Latin grammar, and 
then looked admiringly at his friend. These 
books, so utterly incomprehensible to him, 
were every-day lessons to Max. 

I do wonder whether I shall ever know 
anything about either of these ?’’• he said. 


213 


214 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Of course you will/’ replied Max. 
“ Most likely you’ll beat me in them before 
the year is out.” 

Max would hardly have been willing to 
believe George could attain to that point, 
though he meant nothing untrue by what he 
said. He knew George’s perseverance so 
well that he felt it would accomplish great 
things and soon distinguish him above most 
of his fellow-students. 

As they neared the school Max began to 
describe some of his special favorites among 
the boys, adding, 

Don’t mind it if the fellows stare. They 
have a way of doing disagreeable things to 
new ones, but they won’t be hard on you.” 

Mr. Wolberton was already at the school 
talking with the head- master, Mr. Graves. 
When the lads came in, George was intro- 
duced, and his examination began at once. 

Mr. Wolberton took his leave, and George 
was taken to a seat, where he was desired to 
remain and work out several examples which 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


215 


were to be the test of his knowledge of arith- 
metic. 

The one great advantage George had over 
many boys was in knowing thoroughly the 
little he had been taught. The first glance 
at his slate showed him how much of the 
work he would be able to do, and he set 
about it instantly. The boys gave him a 
comprehensive stare as they came in, but he 
was intent upon his examples, and it was all 
lost upon him. Even when Mr. Graves left 
his desk to go to another room, the buzz and 
flutter that began instantly did not attract 
the notice of the new pupil, until he heard 
a low voice behind him say, 

‘‘ Poke the new fellow with your ruler.” 

Of course there was no delay in carrying 
out that hint ; and before George could real- 
ize that the poking was meant for him, he 
received a tremendous crack over his shoul- 
der. 

The report brought Mr. Graves instantly 
to the doorway to inquire the cause. 


216 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Nobody ever knows anything under such 
circumstances. Mr. Graves glanced at George, 
but he was not even looking up ; and the 
teacher, relieved of his suspicion that some 
trick had been played upon the new comer, 
contented himself with a general punishment 
for disorder, without further investigation. 

The discipline of the engine-room prob- 
ably had something to do with George’s self- 
control, for the noise had not startled him at 
all ; and though the blow had been hard 
enough to bring tears to his eyes, he might 
have been wood for all the motion he made. 

When recess came, George kept his seat 
to await the examination of his slate, while 
Max Avent out with the rest to the play- 
ground, where he was at once assailed by a 
chorus of voices to know all about George. 

He’s a brick, to begin Avith,” said Tom 
Carpenter. “ You might have thought his 
jacket was cast iron to stand the rap I gave 
him. Who is he. Max? Does he live near 
you?” 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


217 


Mr. Wolberton was very much afraid that 
George would be made uncomfortable in the 
school if the difference in his social position 
were known, and he had simply said, when 
he placed him with Mr. Graves, 

Next to Max, I desire to advance the 
interests of this boy. You will treat him in 
every respect as if he were my son.’^ 

This was enough for the master, but the 
boys would hardly have withheld their ques- 
tions if they had heard this remark. 

Max was not prepared with his answer. 
Pie knew his father’s feeling, but he knew, 
too, that the boys’ curiosity would have to be 
satisfied. 

“ Begging your pardon,” said Ned Harris, 
who was the great snob of the school, and 
who had suggested the poking, “ I don’t 
think he looks much like a gentleman’s son.” 

“ It is a pity,” said Max, who was getting 
very much excited, that you do not carry 
some evidence in your face of your good con- 
nections.” 


218 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Ned had had some experience of what 
Max was equal to when provoked, and he 
had no intention now of vexing him very- 
far. He was about to make some retort by 
way of mending things, when Tom Carpen- 
ter began to laugh, calling out the while, ^ 
‘‘Lord Cornwallis is getting savage. You 
had better stand clear now.’’ 

Ever since the first of Max’s school-days 
at Eugby he had been known by this name. 
The story of it was on this wise. 

The class were having a lesson in United 
States history. Max had forgotten to pre- 
pare it, and was in consequence in a great 
state of alarm when the recitation-time came 
and along with it his recollection. 

Hastily catching up the book, he read the 
events immediately preceding and including 
the surrender of York town. His ideas were 
rather hazy, but he hoped to get through 
without failure. The boy first called upon 
happened to be one at the extreme end of 
the class from Max. Relieved that he had 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


219 


not been selected to give an outline of the les- 
son, Max looked indolently around the room 
instead of listening. Suddenly he caught 
sight of a boy with his desk-lid raised high 
enough to hide his mouth, and while keeping 
his eyes steadily fixed upon Mr. Graves 
trying to take a huge bite out of a big apple. 

The desk -lid slipped and fell with a great 
crash, shutting up the apple inside. Mr. 
Graves reproved the boy for his noise. Max, 
wlio saw the whole proceeding, and who 
never could resist anything comical, had his 
pencil in hand, and began to make a sketch 
for the benefit of the rest at recess. He was 
buried in his work when Mr. Graves’ voice 
recalled him to his senses : 

Take up the lesson from there, Wolber- 
ton, and finish the account.” 

There !” thought Max in bewilderment. 

I wonder where ‘ there ’ is, and what account 
he is talking about ?” 

Ashamed to be caught unprepared, he be- 
gan to stammer out some part of the lesson. 


220 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


This time his usually fine memory played 
him false. A very vague remembrance of 
what he had read floated through his brain, 
and he tried to patch together something 
that Mr. Graves would allow to pass. The 
teacher was so silent that Max gathered 
courage as he went on. He was interrupted 
finally with the question, 

“ On which side was Lord Cornwallis the 
leader ? Your account is rather mixed.” 

“ The American side, sir,” was Max’s an- 
swer, given in the promptest fashion. 

The boys shouted as loud as they dared 
over this blunder, while Mr. Graves began a 
severe reproof for the careless preparation 
and the still more culpable attempt to con- 
ceal it. Max never hesitated about confess- 
ing a fault, and Mr. Graves kindly overlooked 
it, but it lived ever after in the memory of 
the class in the nickname Lord Cornwallis,” 
to which he was really more accustomed now 
than the real one. 

Ned made no other attempt to irritate 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


221 


Max ; and as George did not make his ap- 
pearance on the playground that day, he was 
soon forgotten. 

Meanwhile, George was undergoing a very 
severe ordeal in Mr. Graves’ questioning. 
The work on the slate had been so accu- 
rately done that the teacher expected to have 
like success if he gave much more advanced 
questions. 

He was surprised, then, when George failed 
to reply, and would, no doubt, have given 
the boy a much higher place in the school 
than his abilities warranted, under the con- 
viction that he failed through embarrassment. 

George was too candid to permit this when 
he discovered it. I am afraid you do not 
know how ignorant I am,” he said. ‘‘ I have 
never been in school more than six months 
in my life. Mr. Wolberton has taught me a 
great deal lately, and now he is good enough 
to send me here to have these advantages.” 

“ He is your guardian, I suppose ?” 

“ Nothing of the sort, sir. I am only one 


222 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


of his factory-boys. He is very good to me, 
and would like to have me get on fast. I 
mean to use every minute of the time he al- 
lows me to stay here, so that I can repay him 
some day. 

If you please,” went on George, rather 
more timidly, don’t give me very much to 
do at first. I am very stupid, and I’m sure 
the youngest boy in school knows more than 
I do now, but I will try with all my might 
to get ahead. Mrs. Wolberton says you 
sometimes allow the boys to get on faster by 
taking the studies in two classes at once. I 
do not know whether I can ever do that, for 
the boys here all seem to know so much ; but 
if I can come up to them by hard work. I’ll 
do it, sir.” 

‘‘ Labor conquers all things,” said the 
teacher. 

''Mr. Warrington told us that at Christ- 
mas-time,” said George, brightening as he re- 
membered Meval’s sword. " I’m sure I’ll do 
it, then.” 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


223 


Tlie teacher turned away to call in the 
boys from recess, and again George was the 
victim of nods and winks and various kinds 
of telegraphing to discover whether he yet 
had had his place in class settled. He did 
not comprehend the signs, and troubled him- 
self very little about them. Mr. Graves 
gave him some new work and bade him re- 
main where he was to do it while some of 
the boys were having a French lesson. 

Max, with a few others who were not 
studying the language, left the room with 
Mr. Graves. No sooner had the master left 
the room than every boy vanished under his 
desk in perfect silence. George alone was 
left seated, wondering what might come 
next. 

A sharp, keen-looking little Frenchman 
opened the door with a suave Bon jour, mes- 
sieurs,’’ before he observed the empty desks. 

George looked intently at his slate, not 
wishing to be questioned, yet in a maze of 
doubt as to what he ought to do. He de- 


224 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


cided that it was not his duty to interfere, 
and sat wondering how it would end. 

‘‘La classe!” exclaimed the surprised teach- 
er. “ Ou est ma classe ?’’ George could make 
nothing of these words, and he began to feel 
as guilty as if he were a party to the game. 

“It is one trick, j’en suis sure,’’ said the 
irate master. “ They are worse than ze wild 
beast.” 

At that moment the hoy in front of George 
rose up to his place, and in the coolest man- 
ner possible repeated the customary greeting, 
“ Bon jour, monsieur. ” 

One by one the boys rose up to their 
places, while the little man looked on, too 
angry to be able to talk. 

Then he burst out : “You are all one set 
of rascal ! I will do my possible to make 
the master dismiss you from ze school.” 
The boys listened in what might have been 
mistaken for the most attentive silence, while 
the frantic professor raved on : 

“ It is ze country that is to blame ! Every- 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


225 


thing is confusion. Ze children have no 
more ze respect for ze father and ze mother. 
Eh, bien ! They will not have it for ze pro- 
fesseur.’^ 

The boys had the habit of pretending, 
when it suited them, that M. Dandot spoke 
such bad English they could not understand 
him ; or if he talked in French, they would 
insist that they were unable to comprehend 
on account of their imperfect knowledge of 
that language. They sat and waited for him 
to stop, looking very demure, while he went 
on, growing more furious all the time. When 
he concluded to begin the lesson, he fairly 
shrieked, ‘‘ Faites attention !” 

In a moment every boy appeared to be 
giving his whole mind to the lesson. The 
suspicious little Frenchman imagined this to 
be only another part of some deep plot they 
had in hand for vexing him, and he was 
more angry at their quietness than he would 
have been at a noise. 

When the lesson was over, and Mr. Graves 


15 


226 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


returned to the room, he gave a satisfied 
glance around as he observed the unwonted 
good order during M. Dandot’s lesson. 

The voluble Frenchman did not leave him 
long under this delusion, and began to pour 
forth an account of his wrongs. The boys 
paid the penalty of wrong-doing by endur- 
ing a punishment which was more disagree- 
able than they had anticipated. 

When Mr. Graves had given George his 
place in the school, the boy felt more than 
ever the greatness of the task he had under- 
taken. The youngest boys in school were 
his classmates, and many of these he found 
were beyond him. 

Labor conquers all things,’’ he whispered 
to himself. I will work, and so succeed.” 

Max waited on the step for him when 
school was over for the day. 

The most of the French class were in the 
yard praising George for “ playing dumb so 
beautifully.” 

When he appeared, Tom Carpenter came 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


227 


up to him in the most friendly way, and said, 
‘‘ I believe in you. You’ll do ! You under- 
stand mum about right.” 

‘‘ Do I ?” said George, with rather a dan- 
gerous look in his eyes. ‘‘I understand 
something else as well. I’ve been sent here 
to school to study. As long as you don’t 
interfere with me I’ve nothing to say about 
your tricks, but I advise the one that struck 
me with the ruler this morning not to try it 
over again.” 

You are pretty fair grit,” said Tom. I 
don’t think anybody will meddle with you 
again.” 

Tom was one of the leaders in the school, 
so that with his endorsement George was 
likely to have a comfortable time of it. 
They all said “ Good-bye,” and Max and 
George hurried on to the railroad. 

‘‘ I say !” said Max, at last, after an embar- 
rassed silence ; ‘‘ the boys think you are a 
ward of my father’s, and that he has money 
in trust to educate you.” 


228 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


George looked at Max, while for the first 
time in their acquaintance a feeling of dis- 
trust came as he said, with a slight quiver in 
his voice, 

I suppose you meant to do me a kindness 
by telling them that. Max, but I can’t go on 
and have them think so.” 

“ I didn’t know what you thought of it,” 
said Max, while his face brightened up. I 
never told them anything about you. Indeed, 
I don’t think it is any one’s business but 
yours, but I was afraid you wouldn’t like it 
to come out there that you worked in the 
mill.” 

“ They will all know that much to-mor- 
row,” said George. I’m not going there to 
make friends ; I expect to work.” 

As to that,” said Max, they all took to 
you from the first because you were so 
plucky about the punching, so you may be 
sure you will be all right.” 

What the ‘‘all right” might mean to 
Max, George did not know, but to him the 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 




only “ all right ’’ was to tell his whole story — 
to tell and to act the truth. 

When the boys reached the railroad, Mr. 
Warrington was there waiting for the train. 
He was on his way to Wingohocken to dine, 
and had purposely chosen that train to take 
his ride with the two boys that he might 
hear of George’s school experience. 

The artist was deeply interested in Mr. 
Wolberton’s experiment. Ever since Christ- 
mas night he had been drawn to the boy. 
He sought him out whenever he came to the 
village that he might study the lad’s charac- 
ter and assure himself that Mr. AVolberton 
was making no mistake in the confidence he 
was bestowing. George was winning his way 
very steadily into Mr. Warrington’s heart, 
and the old gentleman was more ready each 
day to believe that the boy’s influence and 
example would do much for Max in helping 
him to acquire the force of will and per- 
severance that would make his great talents 
available. 


230 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Mr. Warrington, true to his profession, was 
most interested in developing Max’s genius 
for art, and he was trying now to devise some 
plan by which he could bring George to the 
studio on Saturdays, to see whether Max 
would have any new stimulus to work by 
association with a companion. 

Mr. Warrington was wealthy, and pursued 
his art from love rather than for gain. He 
had decided upon his course with regard to 
the boys, and was now on the way to consult 
Mr. Wolberton about it. 

When the cars stopped at the station, 
George said ‘‘ Good-bye ” and almost flew 
home. While he devoured the dinner which 
his mother had so carefully put by, he told 
the story of his morning’s adventures. 

Since the night of the Skinner party 
Susan had been more subdued, and her be- 
havior was so much better that Mrs. Savage 
began to have hope again of managing her. 
She stood by to listen, but before long her 
brow clouded, and she said, sulkily. 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


231 


“ I don’t see why somebody don’t send me 
to school.” 

tell you what to do, Sue,” said 
George : you can study the lessons with 
me every night. You can learn everything 
that I do just the same as if you were going 
to school.” 

This happened to strike her fancy, and 
she agreed to the proposal ; she even began to 
turn over the books he brought home with 
something like interest. But there was no 
earnestness of purpose in her, and before 
George had prepared one lesson she had 
given up her notion. The boy sat at the 
window, catching the last glimpses of day light 
for his study, when he was interrupted by a 
gentle tap at the front door. Susan rose to 
open it. 

“ Oh, Mr. Warrington !” said George, sur- 
prised but delighted. How kind of you 
to come here !” 

Susan stood looking at the stranger’s face, 
while Mr. Warrington, whose kindly heart 


232 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


always warmed at the sight of a child, 
reached out his hand pleasantly, saying, 

“ I suppose this is your sister ?” 

‘‘ Yes, sir,’’ said George — ‘‘ my sister Su- 
san.” 

Mr. Warrington saw that George was busy 
with his lessons, and he began at once to in- 
quire how he got on and whether they would 
be difficult enough to demand all his time. 
George could hardly tell yet, but he was 
very sanguine, now that he had begun in 
earnest, about getting through them quickly. 

I will tell you why I inquire,” said Mr. 
Warrington : I have just been talking of 
you to Mr. Wolberton, and he tells me you 
want to have work on Saturdays, and have 
asked him to allow you to go in the mill.” 

Yes, sir,” said George, a great deal sur- 
]:)rised that Mr. Warrington should have any 
interest in it. 

Would you be willing to do some other 
work, provided it paid as well ?” 

“ That is all I know how to do,” said 


SCHOOL-DAYS. 


233 


George, still more amazed. I have never 
learned any work but what I do at the 
mill.’’ 

“I dare say,” said Mr. Warrington. 
‘^But you can be taught to do something 
else.” 

Yes, sir,” said George, hesitating. “ That 
is what my schooling will do for me after a 
while, I know, but I want to be earning a 
little now to help us on, so that I will not be 
entirely dependent on Mr. Wolberton.” 

‘‘That’s the way I understand it,” said 
Mr. Warrington. “You can have some 
work now, to be paid for it while you are 
learning, always provided you continue to 
be as persevering and steadfast as hereto- 
fore. Are you willing to try ?” 

“ Indeed I am,” said George. “ What am 
I to do?” 

“ Something that I dare say you will think 
very strange and hard to understand, but 
you must ask no questions. I have my own 
reasons for giving you this work. Come to 


234 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


my studio on Saturday morning with Max, 
and you shall begin then.” 

After a few words to Susan and the little 
children, Mr. Warrington went away, with- 
out seeing Mrs. Savage, who had not returned 
from the village store. 

‘‘ What do you think you are to work at ?” 
said Susan as soon as the door closed upon 
Mr. Warrington. 

I am sure that’s more than I can tell,” 
said George. Max goes there to learn to 
make pictures, but he can’t mean for me to 
do that.” 

‘'I don’t know how it is,” said Susan, 
‘‘that nice things are always happening to 
you. People never come and do things for me 
that way. I wish I could earn some money. 
I was going once to ask him if he would 
teach me how to do it too, but I didn’t like 
to.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


BOYS. 

HEN George began bis school-work 
next day, it was easy for his teacher 
to see that he had given it careful 
preparation. Yet he felt very little 
satisfaction in the praise he received when 
he looked round upon the boys in his class, 
all so much younger than himself. It was 
not strange that he desired to bring himself 
by hard work side by side with boys of his 
own age. It looked to be an almost hopeless 
task, and yet he set himself resolutely to do 
it, with the feeling that he must prevail at 
last. 

When the recess came, and George, for the 
first time, joined the boys in the playground, 
he began to think of his talk with Max the 
day before, and he was determined to make 

235 



236 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


his real position known before play-time was 
over. Tom Carpenter, who had conceived a 
strong liking for the new scholar, was the 
first to accost him. 

‘‘How is it you are not in our class?” 
Then, feeling that he had made a thrust at 
George for being ignorant, he added, “ May- 
be you are sharp, and don’t own up to all 
you know for fear Graves will make you 
study too hard. I wasn’t up to that when I 
first came here, and it is too late to try it 
now.” 

“lam not pretending to know less than I 
really do,” said George ; “ I am willing to do 
all the work Mr. Graves thinks I ought. I 
am sure every one of the little boys in that 
class knows more than I do. This is my 
first chance. I have had to earn my living 
in Mr. Wolber ton’s mills. He is helping me 
now to get an education.” 

“ Good for you !” said Tom, heartily. 
“That’s the talk for me. You won’t stay 
long in that class, I know. I shouldn’t won- 


BOYS. 


237 


der if you left the school after all with first 
honors.’’ 

Tom’s utter abhorrence of shams made 
him recognize the true manliness of George’s 
avowal, and he determined that they should 
be fast friends. 

When Saturday came, George and Max, 
who were now almost inseparable, made their 
appearance in Mr. Warrington’s studio at a 
very early hour. Max knew as little as 
George about the nature of the work that 
was to be done. After the first greeting, Mr. 
Warrington turned to George and said, 

I am going to teach you to draw.” 

“ Me r exclaimed George, in perfect amaze- 
ment. ‘‘ Why, I cannot make a line without 
a ruler.” 

‘‘Very well,” said the artist; “that is the 
very thing to begin to learn.” 

Placing some paper and a copy upon 
which lines were drawn in all directions, he 
gave George the necessary instruction for 
beginning his work. A model was set up for 


238 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Max, and Mr. Warrington went away, leav- 
ing the boys to themselves. 

They worked on silently for a while, then, 
as usual. Max began to grow weary. 

Look, look he said. “ Do come to the 
window ! This is the funniest thing I ever 
saw.” 

‘‘ I can’t come,” said George. 

Yes, you can, just for a minute.” 

George stayed on at his work without 
arguing the point, and Max, not in the least 
vexed at the refusal, watched the scene in the 
street. Between his fits of laughter he kept 
telling George what was going on, and they 
laughed in concert, though George never put 
aside his work to look on. 

I have spoken before of the street which 
faced Mr. Warrington’s studio, and which 
always seemed to afford Max a great amount 
of fun. 

The sidewalk was very narrow, and in one 
place, in front of a green-grocer’s shop, the 
entire pavement, except a small passage, was 


BOYS. 


239 


filled with baskets of fruit and vegetables 
displayed for sale. A drunken man came 
reeling along, trying to steer straight between 
all this array. He missed his endeavor and 
fell headlong into a basket of sweet potatoes, 
which rolled with him into the shallow gut- 
ter. In its descent two or three more were 
jostled, and spilled over the unfortunate 
man. He struggled up and tried to help 
himself by grasping at a basket of tomatoes. 
That yielded and came down to join the 
others. One after another was seized in 
turn, until the gutter was a confused mix- 
ture of apples, peaches, tomatoes, potatoes 
and drunken man. 

‘‘ I am going to sketch that for Mr. War- 
rington,” said Max, rising from his easel to 
search for a suitable piece of paper. 

^‘Why,” said George, looking surprised, 
‘‘ I didn't know he would be willing for you 
to do that, when he has already given you 
something to be at.” 

‘'As far as that goes,” said Max, “he 


240 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


never says must. I know lie don’t like it, 
tliougli.” 

‘‘ I wouldn’t think of doing it, then,” said 
George. 

^^You wouldn’t, I know,” was the retort, 
but this is my way. If only Mr. Warring- 
ton had never taken it into his head that I 
had great abilities, I should not be torment- 
ed thus. I used to think I loved drawing, 
and I do yet, when I don’t have to poke 
over an old thing like that,” pointing to a 
plaster urn, which was the model for that 
day. 

“ But if you undertake to have the lessons 
with Mr. Warrington, you ought to do as he 
says, whether you like it or not.” 

“ I know that as well as you do,” said 
Max, somewhat sharply, ‘‘but I never can 
keep at what I don’t like just because it is 
my duty.” 

As he said this his eyes rested upon the 
sheets of paper filled with lines which 
George had been so faithfully producing. 


BOYS. 


241 


It was a greater rebuke than the words had 
been. 

Do you like to do that?” he said. 

George would have felt it to he the great- 
est ingratitude on his part to express a word 
of the distaste he felt for his work, yet he 
had never found anything so tiresome be- 
fore. Max waited for an answer. 

“ It doesn’t make any difference whether 
I like it or not,” he said, at last. “ I am 
paid for my work, and must do it.” 

“ I declare,” said Max, “ you always make 
me feel ashamed of myself when I see how 
conscientious you are over the smallest thing. 
I’ll be good, too, for once in my life, and sur- 
prise Mr. Warrington when he comes in.” 
So saying, he sat down resolutely before his 
easel. 

The artist’s face lighted up with its rarest 
smile when he returned and found both boys 
working like beavers. As Max displayed 
Ins work he begged Mr. Warrington to no- 
tice how much he had accomplished : 

16 


242 


LEA VES AND FRUIT. 


That’s because I have been at it all the 
morning except about half an hour when I 
was looking out of the window. If it had 
not been for George, you would have had a 
sketch of something I saw out of doors, so 
you may thank him for missing a good joke 
and getting a bad drawing.” 

I do thank him most heartily,” said Mr. 
Warrington, “if I owe him all that.” 

“ I will not even tell you what I saw,” 
said Max, “ since you treat it so contempt- 
uously. I will keep my fun for myself after 
this.” 

Max was laughing, but Mr. Warrington 
detected in the tone the promise that his 
pupil meant to be more attentive in future to 
his wishes. 

The old gentleman still kept up the chaff- 
ing tone he had assumed, and said, 

“ Then it seems you are starting on a race 
with George to see which will make the bet- 
ter artist ?” 

“ Better artist /” exclaimed both the boys 


BOFS. 


243 


in the same breath, though their surprise 
was of quite a different character. 

‘‘Why,” said Max, “if George is setting 
out to do that, there is no question as to who 
will beat. You say I have talent, and I 
suppose it is so, but I couldn’t spend a whole 
morning at straight lines the way he did, 
and you know I must plod on in that way 
to beat him.” 

Mr. Warrington smiled quietly to hear 
some of his own logic brought back to him, 
but he said no more just then, except to as- 
sure George that his morning effort had been 
entirely satisfactory. 

More models were brought out and dis- 
cussed for the next lesson, when Mr. War- 
rington said, 

“ Which of you has enough leisure to do 
something at home this week ?” 

“Not I,” said Max, laughing. “Now, 
don’t begin to be hard on us, when we have 
done so much to-day.” 

“ That is the worst of you. Max,” said the 


244 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


old gentleman. “ You take so much credit 
to yourself for simply doing your duty that 
I am often carried away by your way of put- 
ting things, and feel myself obliged to praise 
you when, in fact, you have done nothing 
more than I had a right to claim.” 

Max was rather inclined to resent this 
piece of reproof : As to that, Mr. Warring- 
ton, I suppose 3^ou have a right to claim the 
very best I can do at all times ; but then it 
is not as though I ever expected to do any- 
thing more with this than amuse myself. I 
suppose I might as well have some of the fun 
as I go along.” 

‘‘ We need not talk this over again,” said 
Mr. Warrington. “ You are beginning life 
with false ideas which no words of mine will 
ever be able to uproot, I fear. As far as I 
can see, the best thing that could happen 
would be for you to lose all your expectations 
of wealth.” 

The earnest tones of his old friend touched 
Max’s heart and banished the anger : 



“You make Magnificent Beginnings/’ 

Page 245. 


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BOYS. 


245 


“I know I am all wrong about it, Mr. 
Warrington, but I always have been indif- 
ferent about failing in anything. It takes so 
much trouble to do things well that I really 
cannot see the use in trying if I do not 
need it.” 

‘‘ niches take to themselves wings some- 
times,” said Mr. Warrington. ‘‘ What can 
you do if that comes to be your case ?” 

‘‘ Nothing, I’m sure,” said Max, sadly. 

“ You make such magnificent beginnings, 
at so many things, that you have never 
brought all your energies to bear upon any 
one. I wish most heartily that your powers 
were more limited.” 

Mr. Warrington noticed the sadness in 
Max’s face, and he spoke more cheerfully 
now in his effort to banish the cloud. 

“ I have hopes of you yet,” he said, ‘‘ if 
you only will promise me one thing — that is, 
never to say again, and as far as possible 
keep it from your thoughts, that there is no 
real need for you to work. It is probable, 


246 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


I know, that you may always have money 
enough at your command to preclude the 
need of working for it, but work does not 
mean earning money. Having money is 
only a greater reason why you should labor. 
Every life is a failure when the world is not 
better for its being lived. 

Let each day find you with a more earn- 
est purpose to make use of all the powers 
with which God has endowed you. I am an 
old man now, and have to look back upon 
the wasted time when I neither knew nor 
cared what work God meant me to do. 

‘‘ To young people these words sound very 
gloomy. Life to them means only a time to 
be happy, and surely, they think, work is not 
happiness. Not words, but hard lessons of 
experience, will teach the contrary.^’ 

Max’s eyes were glittering with tears. 
George, who had already learned some of the 
stern lessons of life, understood far better the 
meaning, and was drawn more than ever to 
their good friend. 


BOYS. 


247 


“ Heigh ho !’’ said Max, “ I’m a good-for- 
nothing fellow. What makes you take so 
much trouble with me ? I’ll turn over a new 
leaf. See here, Mr. Warrington : I didn’t 
tell you the joke that happened in the train 
this morning and Max, with his usual 
eagerness to turn away from everything un- 
comfortable, began to relate something comi- 
cal. Before very long he had banished the 
shadows from all their faces, and they were 
laughing merrily. The clock warned them 
of train-time, and they hurried off, one at 
least so light-hearted that we might won- 
der whether sorrow could ever touch him. 
When they ran into the d4p6t the cars were 
not ready to start, and, true to their boy- 
nature, they had no intention of entering 
until the first jerk was made. 

Max, always on the watch for entertain- 
ment, noticed a small boy at the hydrant. 
A tin cup was fastened to the chain, and the 
young hopeful was working away with might 
and main to improve its shape. 


248 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


He was regarding his success with consid- 
erable satisfaction, when the majesty of the 
law interposed in the shape of a huge police- 
man. The said policeman looked as though 
he might have been imported from a picked 
regiment of Russian grenadiers, so immense 
did he appear beside the small atom of hu- 
manity at the hydrant. 

The urchin’s grin of quiet content was 
gone in a moment, and terror took posses- 
sion of him. 

What are you doing?” said the awful 
voice of. the law. 

The youngster glanced tremblingly at the 
tin cup, and then into the merciless face of 
the policeman. There was no help. 

“ Please, sir, I just squoze it.” 

‘‘You needn’t try it again, if you don’t 
want to kick your heels in the station-house.” 

“ No, sir,” was the demure answer. 

The small boy gave another furtive glance, 
and seeing that for this offence he was not 
likely to be put in limbo made good his re- 


BOYS. 


249 


treat in the direction of Max and George, 
who had been looking on. 

“My name is Sam Baker,” said he. 
“ What is yours ?” 

“ That’s a secret,” said Max. “ Where are 
you going ? In the cars ?” 

“ Along with mammy to see ’em build the 
church.” 

At that moment the “ mammy ” appeared, 
and the youth’s manner was somewhat sub- 
dued as he found himself being led into the 
cars. Both boys sprang upon the train in 
the same moment that the signal bell sound- 
ed. All at once Max cried out, 

“I say, George! Do you know what 
that youngster meant about going to see the 
church built ?” 

“ Why, no,” said George, looking puzzled. 

“We both forgot it pretty well,” said 
Max. “The corner-stone of our church is 
to be laid this afternoon.” 

They were both eager enough now to reach 
the station. They found a number of people 


250 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


had come up to witness the ceremonies, so 
the boys lost no time in getting home. 
George found everything astir, for the chil- 
dren made great rejoicing at the prospect of 
wearing their Sunday clothes on a weekday. 
Mrs. Savage was awaiting his coming with 
more than her usual anxiety, for she had yet 
to learn how he had been employed. 

George would have been glad to have had 
two tongues, so much did he wish to tell in the 
few minutes he had for his dinner. He first 
began with Mr. Warrington’s kindness, then 
there was his drawing and the possibility of 
what he should do with it in the future. 

But the children thought far more of get- 
ting away to the service than of hearing 
George relate his adventures. So he forced 
himself into silence and hurried ofiP. 

Most of the people were already assembled. 
Indeed, all Winghocken turned out that af- 
ternoon, while strangers from Cooperstown 
and the city made such an addition that the 
assembly was quite imposing for the village. 


BOYS. 


251 


Dr. Burroiigh’s ministry for the past year 
was already bearing its fruit. Many touch- 
ing instances of self-denial had already 
gladdened the pastor’s heart, and there were 
yet many more that would only be known by 
Him unto whom all hearts are open and from 
whom no secrets are hid. As I have said, 
everybody came to the service, let the mo- 
tive be love for the church or simply curi- 
osity to know how matters would be con- 
ducted. 

After all was over they lingered lovingly 
around the foundation until the gray gloom 
of twilight was settling over everything. 
Then they separated to go home, taking Dr. 
Burrough with them for a social cup of tea 
at one of the humblest of the houses. 

George had been keeping guard over the 
children most of the time. Max had singled 
out the party as soon as he arrived, and 
brought Edith to join them. The children 
were very happy at the novelty, and withal 
so reverent that one was led to wonder how 


252 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


much of it all they were understanding. 
When the last prayer had been offered, Mr. 
Wolberton was turning away with some 
clergyman, when he observed George. It 
brought a recollection of something he in- 
tended to do. 

Calling the boy, he said: “Come up to 
the house before you go home ; I want to see 
you.” 

Mrs. Savage heard the request ; and bid- 
ding George not to delay his return home 
after he had served Mr. Wolberton, she 
wended her way homeward. Susan took 
little Mary in her arms, and walked by her 
mother’s side, talking of all they had seen 
and heard. 

The girl had been quieter and better tem- 
pered of late — so much so, indeed, that her 
mother began to feel a dawning of hope that 
something good might yet be made of her. 

Through his interest in George, Dr. Bur- 
rough had sought out the rest of the family 
in the beginning of his ministry at Wingo- 


BOYS. 


253 


hocken, and Susan had been more willing 
from the first to receive a reproof from him 
than from any other person. She found it 
very hard, as we have seen, to take heed to 
her ways, but it was evident now that she 
sometimes tried to do it, and her mother^s 
heart warmed with thankfulness as she noted 
some act of self-control that the loving pas- 
tor’s influence had taught the girl to ex- 
ercise. 

Whenever the doctor came to see them, he 
never failed to give a quiet word of exhorta- 
tion. Susan would talk of these sermons, as 
she? 'called them, with an air of bravado; 
nevertheless, his admonition about the folly 
and sin of love of dress had its weight, and 
she yielded to her mother’s wishes in that re- 
spect with a better grace than in the olden 
days. The seed sown might not appear in 
fruit at once, but was not lost. 

The doctor’s influence over most of the 
girls in the factory was equally great. He 
saw very plainly that the passion for dress 


254 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


was leading many of them to ruin, and hence 
he never lost an occasion to warn them 
against it, and to point to higher hopes and 
aims. 

Susan was disappointed that the doctor was 
not to be their guest that evening, and she 
began to talk as though a great slight had 
been shown to them by his acceptance of an 
invitation elsewhere. 

I don’t know what Dr. Burrough sees 
in the Nelsons, to go down there to tea,” 
she said. I think he might have come to 
OUT house.” 

She would, no doubt, have talked herself 
into a fit of ill-humor, but her mood was 
suddenly changed as a small hoy confronted 
them. He was turning himself over in a 
most remarkable fashion, now standing on 
his head and again supporting himself on 
his hands, while he threw his feet out in 
every conceivable direction. 

“ Just look at that boy !” said James, ad- 
miringly. 


BOYS. 


255 


‘‘ I can do more than that,^^ said the young- 
ster. ‘‘ I can jump over a fire-plug.’’ 

Fire-plugs were not down in little Jim’s 
dictionary, so that he was all the more im- 
pressed with the accomplishments of the 
small boy. He began immediately to fancy 
what kind of an affair a fire-plug might be. 
He wondered if it looked like the ‘‘ Washie ” 
fire-engine they had in Wingohocken. 

All at once the impossibility of it took 
possession of him, and he called out, 

I don’t believe you.” 

Before any one could anticipate what was 
coming, the insulted boy rushed up and 
dealt James such a blow that, between 
surprise and pain, the child fell to the 
ground. 

Sam Baker won’t take nothing off of no- 
body,” said the youngster. ‘‘If you want to 
lick me, I’m going to stay down at my aunt’s 
till to-morrow.” 

So saying, the little scamp walked off be- 


256 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


fore any one had recovered enough to make 
any remark. 

As soon as James recovered his breath, and 
found that there were so many around to pity 
him, he began to cry lustily. 

“ That^s what you get for having anything 
to do with bad boys,” said Susan. 

In common with people of larger growth, 
Susan had a very ready way of discovering 
that everybody’s sufferings and misfortunes 
except her own were well-merited rewards 
for some evil-doing of theirs that was very 
easy to trace. 

‘‘ I’ll tell George, I will,” blubbered Jim. 
won’t let him lick me. I know he 
couldn’t jump over that.” 

Mrs. Savage led the defeated champion into 
the house, and before very long his sorrows 
were forgotten in a game of blocks with 
Mary. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

SAM BAKER’S VISIT. 


“ The circle formed, we sit in silent state, 

Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; 

“ ‘ Yes, ma’am,’ and ‘No, ma’am,’ uttered softly, show, 
Every five minutes, how the minutes go ; 

Each individual suffering a constraint 
Poetry may, but colors cannot, paint.” 


boys followed tlie group of min- 
inters and other guests, who were on 
their way to Mr. Wolberton’s house. 

^ ^‘1 wonder if your father will re- 


member that he wants me?” said George, 


feeling disturbed lest his mother should be 
kept waiting for him. 

‘‘I’ll go to remind him,” said Max, “and 
then he will say how soon he can attend to 
you. Unless it is something he means to do 
for you, I am sure he will not want you to 
wait.” 


17 


257 


258 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


As the boys came up Mr. Wolberton was 
pointing out some of the beauties of the sur- 
rounding country to his guests. He was 
not so much occupied, however, that he did 
not see George and remember his request. 
Beckoning him to follow, he went to the 
library, leaving Mrs. Wolberton to do the 
honors to their guests. 

I am going to New York by the early 
train on Monday,’’ he said. intend to 
make quite an extended business-trip after- 
ward, and shall be gone, I fancy, about four 
weeks in all. I did not remember you until 
after bank-hours to-day, or I should have 
obtained the amount you will need during 
my absence. I have not enough in the house 
to spare you, so that I shall be compelled to 
write you an order on Jennings.” ( That was 
the clerk in the mill.) ‘‘You can draw it 
any time for your mother.” 

George thanked his friend for his kind 
thoughtfulness, and after receiving the order 
and saying “Good-bye,” he turned back 


SAM BAKER’S VISIT. 


259 


again to repeat, with his customary hesitation 
when he talked of himself, the hope that Mr. 
Wolberton would find some day how grateful 
he was and how much he was striving to be 
worthy of it all. He hurried home in obedi- 
ence to his mother’s request. Everything 
in the house was unusually tranquil. The 
children, tired out with the afternoon’s ex- 
citement, were dropping asleep over their 
play ; and when George came in, Susan, with 
unusual gentleness, was helping them all to 
get ready for bed. 

George was left to eat his supper alone ; 
and when that was over, he and Susan sat 
down with their mother for a cosy evening. 

An unusual sense of quiet contentment 
pervaded the group. Mrs. Savage, who had 
been so heartily happy to see the church 
foundation laid, and thus have one of her 
dearest wishes gratified, felt in this respect 
that the day was one “ to be marked with a 
white stone.” There was nothing discord- 
ant to-night. George began to tell what Mr. 


260 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Wolberton had wanted, and then fell to 
talking of the strangeness in all the pleas- 
ant things that were coming to them now. 

He pulled out the order from his pocket 
and handed it to his mother. 

“ I declare !” said Mrs. Savage. “ I never 
would have known it from your own writing. 
I should have expected a man like Mr. Wol- 
berton to write a better hand than that.” 

Thereupon Susan rose, and looking over 
her mother’s shoulder began to express her 
opinion. 

As to writing,” said George, that don’t 
say much for what people know. If I study 
all my life, I don’t expect ever to know as 
much as Mr. Wolberton, but I can write as 
well as he does now.” 

“ Let’s see,” said Susan. Try if you can 
make it like that.” 

George went to bring his copy-book, and 
then, smoothing the creases out of the order, 
he set to work to copy it. He wrote every 
word slowly and carefully, while the others 


SAM BAKERS S VISIT. 


261 


looked on, the mother’s face lighting up with 
pride at her son’s wonderful ability. When 
it was finished, he held it up to Susan. 

‘‘ Well, I never !” said she. ‘‘ If this paper 
was like that, nobody would ever know them 
apart. I wish I could write that way.” 

George was quite proud of the achievement. 
‘‘ If it wasn’t Sunday to-morrow,” said he, 
“ I would take this and show it to Mr. Wolber- 
ton. He doesn’t know how well I can do, 
and I am sure he would be pleased.” 

‘‘ I would save it to show him,” said the 
mother. 

“ It’s curious,” said Susan, “ to think these 
two pieces of paper should look so much 
alike and only one of them is worth any- 
thing.” 

‘‘Just wait a while,” said George as he 
looked admiringly upon his own handwriting. 
“ Some of these days I shall write bits of 
paper worth fifty dollars.” 

Susan laughed. “ What will you buy us 
then ?” said she. 


262 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


George began to build a castle of all the 
beautiful and needful things both his mother 
and Susan should have then, and each one 
would suggest some additions, while they all 
laughed in almost childish glee at the pros- 
pect. But in the midst of it the cosy even- 
ing came to an end. A knock disturbed the 
happy planning ; and when Susan opened the 
door, she ushered in Jane Skinner and the 
small boy, Sam Baker, with his mother. 

George had not heard of Jim’s adventure 
with Sam, so that he was all the more sur- 
prised at this encounter with his acquaintance 
in the d4p6t. 

The introductions were made by Miss 
Skinner, and then there came an awkward 
pause, in which everybody wished everybody 
else would say something. Then some one 
remembered that it had been a fine day, 
and fell to talking of it, whereupon the 
churcli services came under discussion, and 
then the stream of conversation went on un- 
interruptedly. 


SAM BAKER'S VISIT. 


263 


It was some time before the real object of 
the visit appeared. George began to inter- 
est himself in small Sam, and that irrepress- 
ible youth was not long in finding plenty to 
talk about. 

Is that some of your writing ?” he said, 
pointing to the copy-book, that was still on 
the table. 

Yes,” said George, with a little thrill of 
pleasure at the admiration of even so small 
a youngster as this one. 

I s’pect you know lots, don’t you ?” 

“ Don’t be going on so, Sammy,” said the 
mother. “I don’t know what to make of 
you to-day. You ain’t been pretty behaved 
ever since we left home.” 

This speech, which came in just when the 
party seemed to have exhausted their conver- 
sational powers, aflPorded an opening to Miss 
Skinner to tell the reason of their making 
the visit : 

‘‘We are very sorry that Sammy knocked 
Jimmy down to-day.” 


264 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Yes/’ said Sammy, in a half whisper, to 
George. “ They made lots of fuss, and 
mammy says I’m got to say I was sorry. I 
ain’t so very much, ’cause he made me hit 
him. Wouldn’t you have licked him, if he 
wasn’t your brother and littler than you, if 
he told you you couldn’t do a thing when 
you knowed you could? He’s as big as 
me, you know. If he didn’t like me to hit 
him, all he had to do was to pitch in. I 
ain’t never afeared of nobody.” 

‘‘ Now, don’t go on talking that way, Sam- 
my,” said his mother, in a reproving tone. 

You did very wrong to strike Mrs. Savage’s 
little boy, and I hope you’ll tell her you 
won’t do so no more.” 

I won’t never do so ag’in if he don’t try 
to lick me, but I ain’t a-goin’ to take noth- 
in’ off him. You can tell him he needn’t 
go crowin’ over me if he sees me to-morrow, 
and say I daresen’t touch him, ’cause I ain’t 
a-goin’ to stand that,” said he, straightening 
himself up and clenching his hand. 


SAM BAKEB>S VISIT. 


265 


“Oh, Sammy, you oughtn’t to go on 
like that. It’s real naughty.” 

Sammy was not to be put down by any 
such mild reproof. He felt himself fully 
master of the situation, and was not to be 
prevented from expressing his views. He 
was also very desirous of impressing George 
with a sense of his courage and his superior- 
ity to any control that his mother was able 
to exercise. 

Gradually assuming less of a defiant air 
by finding that he was not to be called on 
for any further apology, he began again to 
inspect George’s writing. 

Whether he had been acute enough to 
notice the pleasure his former admiration 
had given, and took that means to ingratiate 
himself with a large boy, or whether the 
writing really appeared so marvellous to him, 
it would have been hard to tell. Possibly 
there was a mixture of both. At all events, 
he began again to look at the copy-book. 

“ Head it,” he said to George. 


266 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


George began to do so ; but finding he had 
the attention of all in the room, he stopped 
suddenly, remembering what it was that he 
had copied, and fearful lest Jane Skinner 
might guess that it was a copy of a real or- 
der, and thus know how they were support- 
ed. He knew that Jane, in common with 
the rest of the people in the village, under- 
stood that Mr. Wolberton was paying for 
him at school and helping them at home, 
but he shrank from having all the details 
understood. Of all the people in Wingo- 
hocken, he knew Jane to be most full of 
curiosity over the manner in which this 
thing was managed, and he had no notion of 
gratifying it. 

He put the youngster off after the first 
few words, but he was not so successful as he 
wished, for before the woman began to talk 
again, the little piece of mischief snatched 
up the book and carried it to Jane, saying, 

“ Do you know how to read writing ? 
Head that.’’ 


SAM BAKER’S VISIT. 


267 


Miss Skinner was not to be kept from 
doing so by any scruples of delicacy, and, 
moreover, having caught the first words that 
George had read, she was overcome with 
curiosity to hear more. She read aloud for 
the benefit of all the company, while George 
listened, but with flashing eyes at her imper- 
tinence. 

Did you do it, Mr. Savage T said Miss 
Skinner, in w^hat she meant to be her most 
insinuating tone. “I didn^t know before 
how much you had learned. It is a curious 
kind of a copy,’’ she continued, wondering 
very much in her own mind how it came to 
be there. ‘‘ Who teaches you ?” 

I learn to write in school along with the 
other boys.” 

I never would have thought you did that 
kind of writing in a school. I thought you 
just took a copy and had it wrote at the top, 
and then you fllled up the rest like it.” 

“ So we do in school,” said George, but I 
was writing this at home to-night.” 


2G8 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


“ Well, now !” said Jane. ‘‘ I s’pose you 
had an order, and you was copying that 

Yes,” said George, more and more vexed 
at his tormentor, but trying to hide it ; “I 
was trying to see how nearly I could write 
like Mr. Wolberton.” 

'‘Now, do tell!” said Jane. "Could you 
really do this? It is very well done in- 
deed.” 

" Why, you ought to have seen it,” said 
Susan, eager to praise George, in the hope 
that he would the sooner get over his dis- 
pleasure at Jane. "They were just as like 
as two peas. I don’t believe the boss him- 
self would know one from t’other.” 

" You don’t say so I” said Jane, in great 
surprise. "I shouldn’t think Mr. Wolber- 
ton would like that much. You might write 
orders for yourself any time, and nobody 
would be any the wiser but that they came 
from the boss.” 

For the first time there came over George 
the consciousness of what might be said of 


SAM BAKER’S VISIT. 


269 


liis effort. The hot blood rose to his face as 
he said, 

‘‘ You don’t seem to think much about 
what you are saying. I’m not likely to turn 
forger because I learn to write. Mr. Wol- 
berton used to set my copies, and I’ve been 
trying, ever since he began to teach me, to 
write like him.” 

But you’re touchy I I’m sure I didn’t 
say anything to make you fire up that way. 
I only said you could do it if you had a 
mind. Nobody thinks you’re going to.” 

Jane was delighted to see how much she 
was irritating George, and she went on again 
in a patronizing way that is so hard for a 
boy to bear from a girl older than himself : 

‘‘If I were you, I wouldn’t let people 
round know I could write so much like the 
boss. If ever anybody was to do some 
writing like that, you might get the blame, 
you know.” 

“There’s nobody knows my George that 
wouldn’t feel certain he couldn’t do anything 


270 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


such as you speak of, Jane, so I would rather 
you should say nothing more,” said Mrs. 
Savage. 

Of course,” said Miss Skinner, people 
that know him like you and me wouldn’t 
say it ; but then there’s folks as good as him 
has been blamed with things they didn’t 
do, and found it pretty hard to get clear. 
I ain’t going to tell anybody that he’s 
done this writing, so you needn’t be scared 
a-thinking any harm will come of it through 
me.” 

George could not bear this meekly. The 
girl was talking exactly as though he had 
meant something wrong by this copy, and 
that she was willing to help him to hide it. 

‘‘You are very good at keeping secrets, 
Miss Skinner, I dare say,” answered George. 
“ I will not trouble you, though, for I mean 
to carry it to Mr. Wolberton to have him see 
how much I have improved. After he 
knows it, I don’t know that it will make any 
special difference how many people you can 


SAM BAKER'S VISIT. 


271 


make stare over the gossip you will have to 
tell of me.’’ 

Jane in her turn was getting quite warm 
at the hint that she could gossip, and she was 
all the more bent upon making George pay 
for having said it. Unlike him, she could 
conceal her feelings ; and instead of retaliat- 
ing, she kept on in a smooth way, giving 
advice as though his happiness was her first 
consideration. 

You had better burn it, my son,” said 
Mrs. Savage. 

‘‘ No, indeed, mother,” answered George, 
stoutly. ‘‘I am too anxious for Mr. Wol- 
berton to see how much I have improved. 
After I take it to him I will.” 

You had better take your ma’s advice 
and burn it now,^’ said Miss Skinner. Mr. 
Wolberton might believe you were learning 
for some bad purpose, and then there would 
be an end of all your schooling and all the 
rest of the fine things he’s been doing for you 
of late.” 


272 


LEAVES ANI) FRUIT. 


At this allusion Susan grew very uneasy, 
for she knew where Jane had gained her in- 
formation, and she could not bear to have 
George see that she had been making Jane 
a confidante of what so nearly concerned him. 
Indeed, Susan was feeling more vexed at 
Jane to-night than ever before in their ac- 
quaintance, and she wished most heartily 
that she had kept family affairs to herself. 

“ I can manage my own business without 
your advice,’’ said George, shortly. If Mr. 
Wolberton didn’t trust me more than that, I 
should not be doing what I am now.” 

Oh, I dare say you think so,” said Jane, 
and for all I know it may be true, but it 
ain’t worth while to run risks. It would be 
such a pity for anything to happen between 
you and him now. If you make him angry, 
you know you’d have to quit the school and 
go to work again. It ain’t so easy to go back 
to earning your living, and making your 
hands dirty in an old engine-room, when 
you’ve been playing gentleman so long.” 


SAM BAKER’S VISIT. 


273 


All this was said in that would-be sympa- 
thetic tone that goaded George to an extreme. 
He would not trust himself to say more, 
but took refuge in silence. Jane soon saw 
that she would have no further triumph, and 
accordingly prepared to go home. 

Mrs. Baker and the small Sam had listened 
to the whole interview with the utmost inter- 
est. Sam by no means approved of George’s 
last manner of defence; and as the party 
were now on their feet, about to depart, he 
walked up and took a leisurely survey of 
George, as though he regarded him as a new 
species of wild animal that had come under 
his notice for the first time. Then he whis- 
pered confidentially, 

You wasn’t afraid of her, was you ?” 

George could not help laughing at the 
grave manner in which the question was 
put. 

This reassured the youth somewhat as to 
the amount of pluck in his new friend ; and 

after looking at him again in a meditative 
18 


274 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


way, he seemed to solve the mystery to his 
satisfaction. 

I see,” he said ; it’s ’cause she’s a girl. 
You couldn’t lick her, and there ain’t no use 
talking ; she’ll sass hack for ever.” 

This was too much for George ; he laughed 
so heartily that his mother turned round in 
surprise at the sudden change. 

The visitors took their departure at last, 
and then the three went back to their fire- 
side, gloomy and sad, instead of being cheer- 
ful and contented, as the first of the evening 
promised. 

Susan was earnest in her indignation at 
Jane, and showed more than she had ever 
done a willingness to break ofp her intimacy. 
They had a long consultation over the copy- 
book, but George held firmly to his deter- 
mination to show it, at last convincing his 
mother that it was best for him to do so. 

“ I don’t believe that Mr. Wolberton will 
think any harm of it?” said Susan, in a 
voice that sounded like a question. 


SAM BAKER'S VISIT. 


275 


She felt herself so much to blame for hav- 
ing brought this upon them by her gossip- 
ing with Jane that she longed to hear 
George say again that there was no occasion 
to dread telling Mr. Wolberton. 

I shall soon know what he thinks/’ said 
George, “ for I intend to take it to him be- 
fore school on Monday.” 

Why, I thought he was to go off trav- 
eling ?” 

“ Oh, so he is,” said George, in a hopeless 
tone. I wonder if he will mind if I go 
to-morrow ? I don’t believe he will, even if 
it is Sunday, if I tell him why I couldn’t 
rest over it.” 

But many days were destined to elapse ere 
the paper could come into Mr. Wolber ton’s 
hands. When George went to the great 
house next morning, he did not even see 
Max. Everybody was in a state of alarm 
and excitement over Mr. Wolberton’s sudden 
illness. He had been stricken down so sud- 
denly that his wife dared not trust herself 


276 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


to think what might be the end. An awful 
stillness pervaded the place, and George, ter- 
rified and sad, forgot his little grievance and 
hurried home to tell his mother. He thought 
no more of himself now, but gave the paper 
to his mother without comment. 

‘‘ I’ll put it away,” said she ; ‘‘ you can 
show it to him some day.” 

George felt a keen pang as the thought 
rushed over him that perhaps he had seen 
his kind friend for the last time. He went 
out hastily, and Mrs. Savage, giving Susan 
the copy-book, bade her lock it up in a little 
box of treasures that was rarely opened. 

It was more than a year before it was 
remembered and searched for. 


CHAPTER XIY. 


FAST AND SLOW. 

The tortoise and the hare, Tom, 

Set out at each his pace ; 

The hare it was the fleeter, 

The tortoise won the race.” 

H. WOLBEHTON was ill for many 
weeks, and so soon as lie was suffi- 
ciently recovered to bear tlie journey 
the doctor sent him to Aiken, that he 
might escape the bleak March winds and 
the equally trying April storms. 

Edith accompanied her father and mother, 
but Max was left to finish the term at school. 
He was sent to the city to remain under the 
charge of a distant relative. This put an 
end for the time to most of the pleasant 
intercourse between the boys. They met at 
school, of course, but they were not in the 

277 



278 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


same classes, so that recess would often come 
before George had had the chance to see 
whether Max was present. Their affection 
for each other did not diminish with this 
separation, and on Saturdays, when they met 
in Mr. Warrington’s studio, they laid their 
plans for many a pleasant hour when old, 
and laughed again at the frolics of the past. 

Max missed the freedom of the woods and 
the hills and all the beauties of his country 
home in the spring-time, and the burden of 
their talk was the happy time when Mr. 
Wolberton would be able to return and Max 
be released from the restraints of the city. 

The drawing lessons went on, as I have 
said, but Mr. Warrington had not realized 
all his hopes in the companionship. It is 
true Max applied himself far more than he 
used to do, but by no means with the steadi- 
ness that the artist demanded. 

George, with untiring patience, had plod- 
ded on, succeeding far better than the teacher 
had anticipated. Indeed, when they were 


FAST AND SLOW. 


279 


having' their lesson, and Mr. Warrington 
would come in about the middle of the morn- 
ing to inspect progress, he would turn from 
Max’s careless lines with a sigh of vexation 
at the contrast between the two boys. 

‘‘It is useless to attempt to alter your 
nature, I suppose. Max,” said the artist, one 
day, in an angry tone, “ but I cannot help 
blaming you for these failures.” 

“I know it is my fault partly, Mr. War- 
rington, but you make a mistake too — indeed 
you do. I’m not a genius. George is ahead 
of me already.” 

Max tried to laugh, but the acknowledg- 
ment had been very humiliating to him. He 
had no feeling of envy, but his conscience 
easily gave him the key to his own failure, 
and he was all the more annoyed to find so 
clear a case proven against him. 

“ Just look,” pursued Max, “at these clear, 
clean lines on George’s pajoer, and never say 
again that I have any ability.” 

George had seen too much of Max ,not to 


280 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


know that all this talk about want of talent 
was a delusion. He could not bear to be 
praised at Max’s expense, and so he began at 
once to disclaim all credit for his sketches : 

All I know about drawing is what Mr. 
Warrington tells me every day. I could 
never start off and draw things and people 
by myself as you do.” 

“ If I do,” said Max, savage with himself, 
“ I do not see that it makes any difference 
between us. With all my wonderful powers, 
and Mr. Warrington’s instruction besides, I 
could not take that very drawing you have 
just finished and copy it to look half as 
well as yours.” 

‘‘ Do not say ‘ could not,’ ” interrupted Mr. 
Warrington. ‘‘ ‘ Would not ’ is the word. 
If ever the time comes when you will do as 
George has done, spending hours in working 
with the most painstaking exactness, and 
after that you will show me a failure, I will 
yield the point and say ‘could not,’ too. 
Was there ever a time when you would 


FAST AND SLOW. 


281 


have taken that model and not contented 
yourself with dashing off a few bold strokes 
and calling it complete ? George knows well 
how much I appreciate what he has done, so 
that he will not be wounded at my saying 
that I do not discover that he possesses any 
talent for drawing ; but for faithful, conscien- 
tious attention to whatever he undertakes 
and considers duty I have never seen his 
equal, and this of itself is worth more than 
genius. I do not mean to say that he can 
make such a mark in this profession as if he 
were endowed with the God-given ability 
that no amount of training ever supplies; 
but I do say, Max, that his perseverance will 
put him higher than your talent will place 
you, unless you make up your mind to adopt 
his earnestness. That, with your ability (I 
wish I could make you see it as plainly as I 
do), would make you one of the first artists 
in the country.” 

Mr. Warrington was unusually severe, and 
both the boys looked so unhappy that the 


282 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


artist was only too willing to banish the im- 
pression his words had made. Mr. Warring- 
ton was so tender-hearted, where Max was 
concerned, that he could not bear to see any 
mark of sorrow in the boy’s face. 

It was on a Saturday early in June when 
the talk occurred, and Max, by way of making 
Mr. Warrington feel that his words had been 
laid to heart, proposed of his own accord to 
prepare some work during the days which 
should intervene before the next lesson. 
The artist looked quite gratified and readily 
accepted the offer, though he refused to per- 
mit George to do the same. He saw how 
much the school -work was taxing George, 
and was not willing to let him add anything 
to his labor. 

“If I get through by Wednesday,” said 
Max as he received his new model from Mr. 
Warrington, “ I’ll come and show you my 
work, so that I may have something different, 
or do this one over again if it does not suit 
you.” 


FAST AND SLOW. 


283 


‘‘ I have thought of something better than 
that,” was the reply. You may both come 
to me on Wednesday — I will see that you 
are excused from school an hour earlier — and 
I will take you into the country to sketch.” 

‘‘ Glorious !” shouted Max. How are we 
to go ?” 

Meet me at the North Penn d4p6t, and 
we will make the trip to Fort Washington. 
I remember some fine views for sketching in 
that neighborhood.” 

That’s jolly,” said Max. When I am 
ready to choose a profession, it shall be that 
of an artist.” 

I dare say,” said Mr. Warrington, you 
will be an artist if somebody will do the 
sketching while you do the traveling. Eh, 
Max?” 

I don’t know,” answered Max. ‘‘ I feel 
very good since you spoke your mind a while 
ago, and I shouldn’t wonder if I am a model 
of industry and all the rest of the things 
after a while.” 


284 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


They proceeded to make the arrangements 
for meeting again on the next Wednesday, 
and then George went home, thinking and 
planning about their little excursion with as 
much enthusiasm as if it had been some 
greater event. He never used to know what 
holiday meant, and now every day of going 
to school was like one, but this was to be a 
day by itself, one of genuine enjoyment. 

The days went slowly until Wednesday ; 
and when George bounded into the school- 
yard early in the morning of the much- 
wished-for day, his first search was for Max, 
but greatly to his disappointment no Max 
was to be seen. He took his seat reluc- 
tantly when the bell rang, knowing that he 
would have no further chance for a word 
until recess. He endeavored to overcome his 
impatience; but when play-time came, he 
found that Max had not been in school yet 
that day. 

This was indeed a disappointment. Max 
was to have brought a note from Mr. Warring- 


FAST AND SLOW. 


285 


ton asking leave of absence for the two boys, so 
that George had no means now of going to 
the place of meeting to learn whether any- 
thing had befallen his friend. 

It was hard for him to go creditably 
through his lessons, but he made a brave 
effort, and was succeeding pretty well when 
the door opened and Max came in. 

He went straight to Mr. Graves and be- 
gan to talk very earnestly, then he looked 
round for George, while Mr. Graves sum- 
moned him, saying that he had his permis- 
sion to leave school for the day. 

“ Guess what I’m to do,” said Max as soon 
as they were in the street. 

What like ?” answered George. 

‘‘The grandest thing you ever heard of. 
Father is at Squan Beach to stay for the 
summer, and mother wrote yesterday to 
say that I may go there to-morrow to be 
with them. I never have seen the ocean, 
you know. And just think ! Won’t it be 
glorious to be away all summer, to boat and 


286 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


fish and swim ? If only you could go too 
added Max, regretfully. 

‘‘ Wouldn’t I like it, though? But you will 
be out of school at examination. I shouldn’t 
like that, if I were you. To stand high and 
miss the credit of it will spoil all the fun of 
being away.” 

“Don’t you believe the half of that,” said 
Max ; “ I think missing the examination is 
the best part of going to the sea-shore.” 

“ Why, Max !” said George, in surprise. 
“ I wanted you to beat everybody this year 
and be head.” 

“ Where’s the use ? It makes a fellow 
awfully tired to post up for examination, and 
what does it amount to after it is done ? I 
answer a question that another boy does not. 
It’s all in the way you look at things. One 
mark is just as good as another, if you only 
think so. Whoever beats, somebody is left to 
be disappointed, and all the difference it makes 
to you is to have a seat in one part of the room 
instead of another. I do not see why we 


FAST AND SLOW. 


287 


should care to sit head more than tail, when 
the desks are all alike/’ 

George was puzzled for a reply. At 
length he said, '' I never thought it was the 
desk that made the difference, but the place 
they are in shows how much they have 
done.” 

Of course, I know that,” said Max ; '' but 
where’s the difference whether people think 
I know much or little ? It does not alter my 
brains. I shall know as much in one seat as 
another, I fancy. The fact is, I am glad to 
get out of it all, and not have father expect- 
ing all manner of things of me that I have 
not done, and then being offended when he 
discovers the failure. You’ll do enough for 
both of us this year. Do you know Graves 
asked if you were going to the sea-shore too, 
when I told him that I would be off to- 
morrow ? When I told him no, he looked as 
though I had made him a fine present. He 
didn’t look glum at all over my going, so you 
see what it is to be studious. He said I 


288 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


must tell father all about your hard work 
this term.’’ 

George’s heart beat fast and loud as he 
watched for Max’s next words. 

wish it had been said of said 

Max, forgetting that only a few minutes be- 
fore he had declared himself so indifferent. 
‘‘He says you have done the work of two 
terms in this one, and that if you are sent 
back next year you bid fair to graduate. 
Just think of it !” 

George’s face was all aglow with pleasure. 

“You’ll be through the school the same 
time that I am. I don’t know whether father 
will be more pleased at your success or angry 
at my slowness. I ought to be put up as a 
pattern of goodness for being willing to carry 
such a message as that to my father,” said 
Max, laughing. 

“ Are you sure Mr. Graves means it ?” 
said George, nervously. “ I determined to 
work hard and do the lessons of two classes 
both terms next year, but I did not know 


FAST AND SLOW. 


289 


tliat lie would let me graduate on that. 
Do you think he will ?” 

“ That is just what he said. Your having 
a selected course of study makes it easier foi 
you to do it, while it will make no differ- 
ence about the graduation. If you took all 
the studies, I suppose it would not be possi- 
ble for you to do that much.” 

Almost any other boy would have been 
jealous of the praise and unwilling that 
George should hear it, but Max’s character 
and ways of doing things were such a mix- 
ture of faults and perfections that he could 
not be judged by any known rules, especially 
those which apply to boys in general. 

“ Graves says you have more industry and 
perseverance than any boy he ever taught. 
Think of that, and then fancy how I felt 
when he said to me, 

‘ I wish you would take him for a pattern, 
Wolberton. With your talents, you might 
make a name to be proud of, one of these 
days, if you would only stop being so flighty, 

19 


290 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


and would devote yourself to one thing.’ 
There’s Mr. Warrington now,” said Max, 
breaking off abruptly in the midst of his 
speech to rush up to where their friend was 
already waiting for them. 

In a few minutes they were in the cars, 
whirling away on the express train for Fort 
Washington. 

“ You don’t know the news, Mr. Warring- 
ton,” said Max. I’m going to Squan to- 
morrow. Father is getting well fast down 
there, and he means to stay all summer. 
They sent for me yesterday.” 

“ I could not have timed our sketching- 
party better,” said the gentleman. I will 
expect you to bring home a bookful of 
sketches next fall, so that I may be able, in 
examining them, to have a history of all you 
have seen and enjoyed.” 

I can do that much,” said Max, pro- 
vided you do not ask me to make any fin- 
ished drawing. I am bound to have a jolly 
time rowing and fishing, and not studying.” 


FAST AND SLOW. 


291 


<< Very well/’ was the answer. ‘‘ Bring 
me plenty of outlines, and I shall be content 
to wait until winter for the careful work. 
Perhaps I shall be with you some part of 
the summer. Your father wrote me an ac- 
count of the attractions of Caj^tain White’s 
cottage, and I am much tempted to make a 
short trip there before I start for Canada.” 

Then you will not be here, either ?” said 
George, in a most doleful tone of voice. 

“ No. This, I find, will be my last chance 
to have you with me until September. I 
have been unexpectedly summoned to Bos- 
ton ; and instead of returning here, I shall go 
directly to Squan for a while.” 

The conductor called out Fort Washing- 
ton and when the party alighted, Mr. War- 
rington went on to ask George to continue 
to work in his studio. 

My friend, Mr. Siddons, will be there 
while I am gone, and you can apply to him 
for any assistance you want,” he said. I 
will explain to him all that I want done.” 


292 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


George found himself wondering more 
than once what possible use could be made 
of his work, but the arrangements were made 
in such a business-like way that George 
could not suspect that it was now solely in- 
tended to be a pretext for furnishing him 
with the means of support. 

They wandered through the lovely lanes 
toward an old mill that had long since been 
silent, and served now, in its half-ruined con- 
dition, to add another beauty to the land- 
scape. The water rippled and splashed in 
the noisy little brook that was making its 
way over the stones, and struggling hard 
with the huge trunk of a tree that had been 
broken off by the storm and was stretching 
its gnarled length across from bank to bank. 

Disdaining the stepping-stones, the boys 
tried their skill at leaping, while Mr. War- 
rington picked his way leisurely, stopping 
in the midst to catch the delicate effect of 
light and shade upon the brook far down 
where the trees lined both its banks. 


FAST AND SLOW. 


293 


When they came beside the mill, the ar- 
tist arranged their seats and began his les- 
son. Max was all alive to the beauty around 
him, and anxious to reproduce it on paper. 
George, enjoying it in his own way, saw 
nothing that was like a point of beginning 
in all the bright picture, and he looked with 
dismay at the blank paper before him, quite 
unable to try. 

Mr. Warrington was devoting himself en- 
tirely to Max, and forgot George’s presence, 
or rather that he expected him to draw. 
When, at last, George made a feeble attempt 
and put a few lines on the paper, they ex- 
cited no comment ; and taking it for granted 
that nothing was expected from his produc- 
tions, he gave himself up entirely to watch- 
ing how well Max was answering Mr. War- 
rington’s desires. The real nobility of 
George’s nature showed itself in this as in 
so many more of his actions. He was so 
happy to see how entirely Max had been 
taken into favor that it never entered his 


294 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


mind to be wounded at having been for- 
gotten. 

After a time they started to find another 
favorable point of view, when George, who 
was less absorbed than the others, reminded 
them that it was getting late. As if in an- 
swer to his words, the far-off reverberations 
of a car- whistle fell upon their ears, and 
their watches showed that they would have 
to be very prompt if they meant to make 
the connection. 

Breathless and tired, they reached the 
station, and in a moment more were whirl- 
ing away toward the city, each in perfect 
satisfaction that the day had been, in truth, 
a holiday. George parted from his friends 
at the d4p6t. Max’s last words, shouted 
after him, were — 

‘‘ Mind you write the day the examina- 
tion is over and tell us what your average is. 
I am sure you will be first in the class.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

GEOBOE A HERO. 

And if in time of sacred youth 
We learned at home to love and pray, 

Pray Heaven that early love and truth 
May never wholly pass away. 

HEN we parted from George, lie was 
looking forward to the beginning of 
the examination. 

Max’s words rang in his ears as 
a sort of prophecy : I’m sure you will be 
first.” 

He had meant and expected to do much, 
but he had not dared to hope that such suc- 
cess would crown his efforts. He said it over 
and over again — You will be first ” — until, 
like Whittington with Bow Bells, he per- 
suaded himself that it was an established fact. 

Every moment now was given to prepara- 

295 



296 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


tion, though always with the distinct belief 
in his mind that he should win. 

It is often said that confidence in one’s 
own powers will ensure the success of any 
undertaking. I am by no means willing to 
accept the maxim to that extent, but I am 
convinced that self-confidence is of immense 
assistance. 

George shut himself up in his own room 
as soon as he could get there after school- 
hours, and worked with feverish eagerness. 

The first testing-day came ; and George 
was surprised to find that he had been vex- 
ing his brain over far more difficult portions 
of his book than were taken up in the ques- 
tions announced. He went home elated, but 
still with a feeling that the satisfaction would 
have been much greater if he had only been 
put to a severer test of knowledge. 

But this was only the beginning. There 
was to be a week devoted to the examinations, 
and he might yet have reason to rejoice that 
close preparation had not been wasted. 


GEORGE A HERO. 


297 


There were many among the boys who, 
like Max, would have been glad to escape 
the ordeal; they were indifferent as to the 
result, and took no pains to conceal their 
wonder and disgust that anybody should 
think it worth while to work so hard for 
such an object. As in all schools, there were 
some, too, who were eager to have a position 
of some note, while at the same time they 
had no notion of tasking their brains with 
unusual study. With these the alternative 
was deceit, and they made their preparations 
accordingly. 

Yet George did not stand alone in his zeal 
for study, though he had long been marked 
out as one of the distinguished. 

There was the usual amount of excitement 
attendant upon such scenes, and even those 
who were certain themselves of being much 
behind their classmates stood round Mr. 
Graves after their papers were handed in, 
anxious to see how the others came out. It 
was amusing to see the breathless suspense 


298 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


with which they would watch Mr. Graves’ 
face while he read an answer, and then fol- 
low his hand while he deliberated over the 
mark to be given it ere he slowly put it on 
the paper. 

George lingered each day to know how 
he came out, and then, going home encour- 
aged, would first pour forth the good news to 
his mother and then hurry off to his room, 
stimulated for fresh endeavors. 

The last day had come. To George it 
would prove the hardest, for it would be the 
arithmetic examination. He was depressed 
before he had seen the questions, but as soon 
as they were given out he felt that it was 
useless for him to try. By over-exertion 
on the previous days, his mind had sudden- 
ly become a blank. One by one the boys 
finished and went home, while he was still 
plodding on with a dreary conviction at his 
heart that he was making a failure of it, and 
that to-day’s results were to mar all that had 
gone before. 


GEORGE A HERO. 


299 


Mr. Graves was at liis desk, working too 
over the corrections. At last he said, 

How are you getting on. Savage ? Have 
you nearly finished 

George explained what was yet to be done, 
and then Mr. Graves said, 

‘‘ If you have a lunch with you, you had 
better eat it now. I feel very much like 
having one myself ; and since you are one of 
the boys that can be trusted, I shall leave 
you here to work while I go to the restaurant 
for my dinner. I am sure you will make no 
use of the books or any other helps you 
could find about here.’^ 

Mr. Graves took his hat and went out, 
leaving George face to face with a terrible 
temptation. Could the teacher have dreamt 
of the trial to which he was subjecting the 
boy, he could not have found it in his heart 
to have him go through such an ordeal. 

George took out his lunch, in obedience to 
Mr. Graves, but the moment he was left 
alone his appetite departed. Deep in 


300 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


thought for a few seconds, he started up full 
of a wild desire — ^yes, even a determination — 
to examine the teacher’s desk and see 
whether the answers agreed with his own. 
He took a step forward toward the desk. 
The devil whispered, ‘‘You will do no 
harm just to look at the answers. You need 
not alter yours. You can make yourself 
sure whether you are on the right track.” 

For one moment he stood gazing at the 
unfinished sum, hardly realizing what his 
intention was. The book of questions was 
in sight. It was but a step to reach it, and 
he should know all for which he was toiling. 

Just then his eyes rested upon the wall, 
where the Lord’s Prayer was placed in illu- 
minated text. “ Lead us not into temptation,” 
he said, aloud, half mechanically; then, drop- 
ping down upon his bench, he burst into 
tears. 

The humiliation, the sense of utter degra- 
dation, was something he had never before 
known. The distant sound of footsteps in 


GEORGE A HERO. 


301 


the street frightened him with the thought 
that Mr. Graves was coming, and he felt that 
the position he was in would excite his sus- 
picion. 

He tried to return to his work, but all 
power of concentrating his thought was 
gone. He was no longer tempted to look at 
the book, but the weight of shame that he 
could have purposed to do so dishonest a 
thing made him forget that he had not fallen 
in deed, although he had in thought, and that 
this ought to be a great cause of thankful- 
ness. 

Mr. Graves came in and said some cheer- 
ful words about the amount George must 
have accomplished during his absence; but 
noting the very evident traces of emotion in 
George’s face, he said, 

“ I shall have to send you home, George ; 
I see you are overworked. You may finish 
to-morrow.” 

“ Indeed, no, sir ; I cannot go and leave it. 
You are very kind, but it would not be fair 


302 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


to the rest. You have given me so much 
more time already than them.’^ 

“ That is only because you needed it and 
they did not. I should have been quite as 
willing to let any other boy stay. Let me 
see what you did while I was away, and then 
I can tell better whether it will be necessary 
to leave it. I trust you so entirely that I 
have no hesitation in allowing you to go 
home before the work is finished. I shall be 
as sure that you received no assistance as if 
I were with you to see.’’ 

George’s feelings had been strained to their 
highest tension by the intense labor of the 
week and the battle of a few minutes before. 
He tried to speak when Mr. Graves paused, 
but the tears mastered him again as com- 
pletely as if he had been a girl. 

Dashing them impatiently from his eyes, 
he said, 

“ You are all mistaken about me. I shall 
never get back my peace of mind if I do not 
tell you.” 


GEORGE A HERO. 


303 


“ What !” said Mr. Graves, in the most un- 
disguised amazement. You did not look in 
the book, surely V\ 

No,’’ answered George, “ but I came very 
near it. I wanted to do it.’’ 

In an instant the oppression was gone. 
He felt that he could dare now to look Mr. 
Graves in the face. 

Mr. Graves looked into the honest eyes 
before him, and with tears blinding his own 
he said, 

“ God bless and keep you always, my boy, 
and strengthen you with all might according 
to his glorious power. My confidence in 
you is greater now than ever. I am not 
willing to permit you to work more to-day, 
and to-morrow I shall decide whether you 
may finish this. In case you should be 
allowed to do the sums, you will keep your- 
self out of the way of learning anything 
that will help you in doing them.” 

George went home in a quieter frame of 
mind than he had been in all the week. He 


S04 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


was content now, let them be finished or in- 
complete, to rest satisfied with the result, 
knowing that he had been enabled by God’s 
help to gain a far higher victory than the 
best mark. 

If any one had told him the night before 
that he could have been so tempted, he would 
have resented the insinuation. Now, though 
he knew his weakness, he knew, too, his 
strength ; he was much better able to stand, 
now that temptation had been resisted, than 
when he believed himself strongest. 

As soon as Mr. Graves had called the 
school in the morning, he made a statement 
of George’s inability to finish his work the 
day before, and then put it to vote among 
the boys whether he should be allowed to go 
on then. Mr. Graves spoke of the marked 
success that had been the result of all the 
rest of the boy’s work, and added his belief 
that the failure this time was through 
fatigue, and not inability to answer the ques- 
tions. 


GEORGE A HERO. 


305 


Every boy was eager to make it under- 
stood that he was giving his assent most 
heartily, and George, surprised and thankful, 
received his paper from Mr. Graves’ hands 
and again went to work. 

The difficulties readily smoothed them- 
selves away for him this morning — so quickly, 
indeed, that he wondered whether his teacher 
would still believe him honest when he saw 
how light he made of what was yesterday so 
difficult. 

The next day, the last of the term, the 
boys were requested to appear at the usual 
hour to hear the results of examination and 
to receive their cards of standing in the 
school. 

George lingered at home after breakfast, 
talking to his mother and making a dozen 
excuses for delay, eager to be gone and yet 
fearful to know the issue, lest he had been 
all along deceiving himself and should find 
that he had missed the mark. 

“ Do run !” screamed Susan from the yard ; 

20 


30G 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


I hear the train coming now. You'll be 
left as sure as guns." 

The opening exercises had never been so 
tedious, George thought. Then there was a 
hush of expectancy as Mr. Graves rose and 
unrolled his list of names preparatory to 
reading. He made a little address first, in 
which he praised the hard students for the 
profitable employment of their time, and 
urged the others to imitate the example. 
Then he read the names of those who were 
first in each class. George was number one 
of both of his. When his name was read, 
Mr. Graves paused and said that, lest the 
boys might feel that George had gained that 
jdace through an undue advantage of time 
in the matter of the arithmetic, the marks 
had been counted with and without that re- 
sult, and in either case he could claim the 
first place. 

Before the announcement had scarcely left 
his lips, there was a regular storm of ap- 
plause. George had made himself a general 


GEORGE A HERO. 


307 


favorite. His goodness was of the undemon- 
strative kind that boys of all conditions 
acknowledge. From the first day of his 
entrance into the school to that moment he 
had never been known to do a mean thing. 

Never were more earnest congratulations 
given than those which George received. 
The boys all felt that he had labored harder 
than any one among them, and they told him 
so with the heartiest good-will. 

When Mr. Graves came to say good-bye, 
he asked George if he expected to return in 
September. 

‘^That all depends upon Mr. Wolberton, 
you know, sir; but I have every reason to 
believe that he intends it.’’ 

Then George made a request to have a 
plan of study marked out for the vacation. 

“That will never do,” said the teacher. 
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull 
boy, you remember. You had better leave 
books alone for the next two months.” 

George did not press it, but he had his 


'308 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


own notions that Jack could get enough play 
besides to keep him from being a dull boy; 
and if Max’s prediction was to be verified, it 
would not do to spend many idle days. 

That night George wrote a letter to Mr. 
Wolberton, giving an account of his standing. 
It would have surprised the boy much to 
know that Mr. Graves also had written one, 
in which he spoke with the greatest enthu- 
siasm of George’s energy and success. 

Don’t you wish, father, that George was 
your son ?” said Max. You would have 
somebody to be proud of” 

Mr. Wolberton’s face clouded, but as he 
looked into the bright, handsome counte- 
nance, glowing with health and intelligence, 
as well as loving fondness, he felt that he 
did have some one to be very proud of 

I wish that my son were like him in 
some things.” 

There’s no use wishing that, father. 
George is as much above me as you are above 
him.” 


GEORGE A HERO. 


309 


Mr. Wolberton laughed at the complaisant 
comparison. 

He seems just, to think and act like a 
man about work. I don’t believe that it 
enters his mind that he ought to have a hoi- 
iday.” 

‘‘ So it appears,” said Mr. Wolberton as 
he referred again to George’s letter, in which 
he spoke of expecting to earn something 
while he was out of school. ‘‘He deserves 
to succeed more than anybody I ever saw.” 

Mr. Wolberton sat down at once and wrote 
to George, desiring him to act as an assistant 
clerk at the mill until his return. Thus, 
with Mr. Warrington’s work and Mr. Wol- 
berton’s employment, George had few idle 
moments, though he managed still to do some 
systematic studying. 

The Wolbertons returned by the first of 
September. The boys had each volumes to 
tell and to hear, and were as happy as ever 
in each other’s companionship. They went to 
school on opening day ; and when Mr. Graves 


310 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


began to assign the new studies to George, he 
said, 

‘‘ 1 will try to graduate this year, sir, if 
you are willing.’’ 

With all my heart,” said Mr. Graves. 
‘^You have my best wishes for success. 
After what you did last year, I have no dis- 
couraging word. AVhere there is a will 
there is a way.’ ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 

“ Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding 
Of the child-heart! Would that I 
Thus might trust my heavenly Father, 

He who hears niy feeblest cry !” 

UTUMN was tinting the foliage with 
its gorgeous coloring, and the woods 
were in the height of their beauty, 
one bright October day when Susan 
took the children out for a long-promised 
walk. George was to have gone with them, 
but at the last moment Mr. Wolberton had 
sent for him to come to the mill. The chil- 
dren began to cry over the disappointment, 
and Susan begged to be allowed to take them. 
Mrs. Savage gave her consent, and the tear- 
ful faces very quickly changed into sunshine, 
while they ran in and out of the door, impa- 
tient for their sister to be ready. 



311 


312 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Susan was improving in disposition and 
manners. The mother’s words and prayers 
were not unheeded. The children were not 
now, as in the old days, afraid to be left to 
her care lest they should come to grief. 

They all loved the woods ; and when they 
had fairly plunged into the thicket of trees, 
Susan put aside, unconsciously to herself, the 
womanly airs with which she treated the 
others, and frolicked and played as child- 
ishly as they. 

They gathered acorns and filled their 
j)Ockets, that little Mary might have a plen- 
tiful supply of cups and saucers for her doll’s 
supper-table. Then there were bright leaves 
and flowers that through George and Max 
they had all learned to admire. Susan’s 
hands were full of the rich autumn bloom 
when she began to think it was time to re- 
turn. She called the children to her, and 
then stopped to catch a farewell sight of all 
the beauty she was leaving. 

At a short distance a maple bent over the 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


313 


brook, almost dipping its brandies into the 
bright water below. Susan ran back to get 
some more leaves, for these appeared more 
beautiful than any she had seen yet. She 
leaned far out over the water, and tried to 
grasp a branch of more tempting yellow and 
crimson than the rest. 

At the same moment a feeble moan fell 
upon her ear, so plaintive yet distinct that 
she staggered forward, just escaping a plunge 
into a very cold bath. She looked round, 
but nothing was visible. Half inclined to 
believe that she had been deceived, she re- 
newed her attempt to reach the tree. 

Again the sound, and this time an unmis- 
takable Oh dear !” 

She ran away for a few steps, then, her 
curiosity getting the better of her fear, she 
stopped to take another survey. She made 
some cautious steps on again as the sound 
was repeated, and peered over the stone wall 
which separated this part of the woods from 
a lane which led to the turnpike. At this 


314 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


point the road had been washed into a deep 
gully ; and when Susan peeped cautiously 
down, she saw a little girl lying there. 

In an instant Susan had climbed ov^r and 
was begging the child to let her lift her. 
The little one’s face brightened up at the 
sound of a helping voice, but the moment 
Susan began to assist her to move she 
fainted. 

Susan had never seen any one faint be- 
fore ; and thinking the child was dead, 
she screamed with all her might for James 
to come to her. 

As she did so, she suddenly remembered 
Mary’s uncertain steps, that would follow 
James so closely ; and fearing that she might 
fall, Susan climbed back over the wall. She 
made a place for Mary to sit down, and bade 
her stay for a few minutes; then she led 
James to the path in the woods, and left him 
to find his way back to the village to send 
some one to help them. 

When she came back again, the child 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


315 


opened her eyes. Susan bent over as she 
began to moan, and tried to help her to her 
feet. She saw that this was useless; and 
being strong and sturdy, she lifted her as 
well as she could, and half dragging, half 
carrying her, laid her upon a plat of soft 
grass beneath the trees. 

It was some time before the child was able 
to speak, but at last, in answer to Susan’s 
question where she lived, she said. 

Don’t you know Uncle Wolberton ? 
We live in the house down the lane at the 
end of his grounds. We are going to stay 
there all this year.” 

Susan had heard something of the new 
comers through George, but they had only 
just arrived, and no one had seen them yet 
but the Wolberton family. 

The place the child mentioned was an ex- 
quisite little cottage, built after the fashion 
of a porter’s lodge at the entrance of an 
English park. It was a perfect wilderness 
of ivy, honeysuckle and roses. Though it 


316 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


had been built with the expectation of having 
the gardener live in it, it had never been 
used for that purpose. 

For several years it had been closed, but 
Mr. Wolberton had some months before re- 
ceived a letter from his sister, who had been 
spending three years abroad, telling him that 
her husband had died, and that she meant 
to hasten back to America with her child. 
She desired him to obtain a house for her 
as near as possible to their own. Mrs. Wol- 
berton thought at once of this cottage ; and 
painters, upholsterers and paperhangers were 
set at work to beautify the place and make it 
attractive. 

When Mrs. Van Sant arrived to take pos- 
session of her new home, she was entirely 
prostrated by recent grief and the fatigue of 
a long journey. Elsie, her little daughter, a 
golden-haired fairy of eight years, was per- 
fectly charmed by the novelty and beauty of 
the new life into which she had been brought. 
She could not understand why her mamma 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


317 


took no interest in it, and her gay, joyous 
laughter was checked at the sight of her 
mother’s grief. She was old enough to feel 
sorrow at her father’s death, and, indeed, had 
suffered keenly at the time. But, merciful 
provision ! grief sits very lightly in the heart 
of a child ; and though her tears would come 
at the least mention of the dear name, yet 
in another moment she found something to 
amuse and please her. 

All the morning Edith must be at her 
lessons, and Elsie was left without a com- 
panion. Her chief delight had always been 
to be with her mother, so that the child 
would scarcely have missed Edith if Mrs. 
Van Sant had been able to amuse her. 

Do, dear mamma, try to be as you used 
to,” said little Elsie as she sat at her 
mother’s feet and looked imploringly into 
her face. Will you be well soon ? This is 
such a pretty place, and I want you so much 
to go with me to see it. Couldn’t you be 
like you used to, if you tried ever so hard ?” 


318 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


The words made Mrs. Van Sant see how 
selfish her sorrow was making her, and for 
the sake of the little one she tried to return 
to her old cheerful ways. She brought out 
her case of drawing materials and began to 
illuminate the text, ‘‘ Of such is the king- 
dom of heaven,” for Elsie’s room. The child 
was delighted, and curled herself up in the 
low window-seat as close as she could get to 
her mamma to watch the letters grow under 
the skillful fingers. 

She was watching the work intently when 
Edith, released from her lessons, bounded 
into the bright sitting-room. Elsie made a 
place for her cousin beside her, expecting 
that she too would sit down to watch the 
drawing. Edith was too fond of exercise to 
be desirous of quiet when just released from 
her lessons. She had come, she said, to beg 
her aunt’s permission to take Elsie out to 
drive in the pony phaeton. 

Elsie clapped her hands at this prospect, 
and then, loth to leave her mother, she wish- 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


319 


ed Edith had not said anything about it ; but 
with a loving kiss Mrs. Van Sant sent her 
away to get ready, glad that her child would 
have merry company, and that she herself, 
released from the self-restraint she had borne, 
would be able to receive her again with re- 
newed cheerfulness. 

‘‘ You will go out to-morrow, dear mam- 
ma ?” queried Elsie when she came into the 
room again ready for the drive. 

‘‘We shall see when the time comes, dar- 
ling,” said Mrs. Van Sant as she kissed her 
good-bye. “ You will have to gather me 
some acorns and cones for the frame of our 
motto, while I stay at home to finish it.” 

“ Oh no, mamma ; you must go too. Say 
that you will.” 

“Wait and see, darling. I shall go if I 
am well enough.” 

The next day Mrs. Van Sant was not able 
to leave her bed ; Edith was taken to the city 
to be fitted with new clothes, and Elsie was 
left without a companion. She stayed beside 


320 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


lier mother all the morning, and then at her 
bidding went to the woods close by to gather 
the acorns. 

We have seen what came of it. 

When Susan found that the little girl was 
not dead, she took courage and began to try 
to do something to make her more comfort- 
able, for she was suffering acutely. 

Susan first brought little Mary from her 
seat on the other side of the wall and then 
sat down, and taking the little stranger on 
her lap waited for some help to come to 
them. A loud shout which Susan knew to 
be Annie’s voice fell in welcome tones upon 
their ears. Susan answered it at once ; and 
guided by the voice, Annie was soon with 
them. 

“ Why didn’t you bring somebody to help 
us?” said Susan. 

“ George will come,” said Annie. ‘‘ I was 
on my way here from school to find you 
when I met Jim. I told him to go to tlie 
mill for George, and that I would come to 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


321 


stay with you. Jim said she was dead/’ 
added Annie, “ but I guess it’s only her foot 
that’s hurt ; don’t you think so ?” 

George was not long behind Annie. With 
Susan’s help he lifted the child into a posi- 
tion that would be comfortable for her, and 
then, taking her tenderly in his strong arms, 
he carried her home. 

The child moaned grievously at the pain 
the motion caused her ; but when she found 
that they were nearing the cottage, she made 
a brave effort to hide her suffering, so as to 
keep her mamma from being alarmed. 

Susan, at a sign from George, had hurried 
on to the cottage to tell what had happened. 
The servant rushed to Mrs. Van Sant’s room 
with the tidings, and by the time George had 
reached the house Mrs. Van Sant was in the 
doorway, stretching out her arms frantically 
for the child. 

George ran off to bring the doctor, while 
Susan went about the house, at Mrs. Van 

Sant’s direction, bringing the various reme- 
21 


322 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


dies that she hastened to apply. The ser- 
vant was one of that class of women who 
are perfectly helpless in a case of this kind. 
She was terrified at the sight of the child’s 
pain, and ran here and there, utterly bewil- 
dered, when she was called upon to do any- 
thing. Susan, gifted with more force of 
character, went around with quiet thought- 
fulness, and seemed to know without telling 
just what she ought to do. 

Elsie’s leg and arm were both broken, and 
so long a time had passed before the doctor 
was found that the broken bones could not 
be set until the swelling had subsided. The 
operation was doubly painful when the poor 
little creature did have to endure it, but she 
bore it so bravely that the surgeon almost 
lost strength himself in his desire to spare 
her. 

Mrs. Wolberton came in all haste to the 
cottage when she heard the tidings, but the 
mother would resign her place to no one. 
Susan had been found invaluable, and Mrs. 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


;23 


Van Sant begged her to stay with them until 
Elsie should get better. Mrs. Savage was 
quite willing to spare her for the few days 
Mrs. Van Sant desired ; but the days length- 
ened into weeks, and still Elsie, instead of 
getting better, seemed each day to need more 
care. There was no time when the possibility 
of leaving her little charge entered Susan’s 
mind. Her new work had come to her in so 
unlooked-for a way that she had never 
thought of it under its real name of ‘^ser- 
vice.” Doubtless she would have flouted at 
the notion, as she did on the last Christmas, 
that she should be any one’s ‘‘hired girl,” 
but the service lovingly rendered was no 
hard task to her. 

The mother’s heart, too, was so bound up 
in her child that she was ready to accept 
any one whom the little one loved as worthy 
of her own regard. The whole atmosphere 
of the house was full of gentleness and peace. 
Susan said to her mother and to herself over 
and over again that it was so easy to be good 


324 


LEAVES AND FRVIT. 


there. There was nothing to vex or to tease ; 
all was love and harmony. 

With Elsie one always felt that only 
gentleness could abide. Involuntarily it came 
to the mind in her presence that she truly 
was one of those of whom it had been said, 
Of such is the kingdom of heaven.’’ 
There was a something indescribably pure 
about the child that made it seem that God 
had only lent her a while to earth, and that 
ere long he would claim his own. 

Unlovely as Susan appeared to most peo- 
ple, it was strange that to Elsie she was all 
gentleness, and the child grew to love her 
with such a fervor of affection that there 
was no service for her that Susan would have 
thought it hard to perform. 

That Elsie loved her was enough to make 
Mrs. Van Sant bestow her affection too, yet, 
besides that, Susan had won a place on her 
own account, for she seemed in the past few 
weeks to be transformed into a new creature. 

How this change was wrought it is hard 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


325 


for us to say. God’s Spirit works in ways 
unseen by man. But so it was that under 
the gentle influences of this home pervaded 
by Christian love the seed sown in Susan’s 
wayward heart seemed starting into life. 
The mother’s prayers were to be answered, 
though not fully as yet. 

Mrs. Savage was much comforted, and did 
everything to strengthen Susan’s pleasure in 
her new home. She encouraged her to talk 
of it, doing all that lay in her power to deepen 
the work of grace that she dared to hope was 
beginning in Susan’s heart. 

The bright October weather lost itself in 
the chill gloom of November and yet drearier 
December, and all the time little Elsie was 
growing more feeble. 

You must get better for Christmas, my 
darling,” said Mrs. Van Sant as the time 
drew near. 

Susan, who was standing at the bedside 
brushing out Elsie’s golden curls with a ten- 
der, caressing way that she never failed to 


326 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


show toward the child whatever was the 
service she did for her, stopped the motion 
and looked wistfully into the little one’s 
eyes. What was it that sent the sudden 
thrill of pain to the heart of both mother 
and maid at the same time ? 

Susan twined the locks around her fingers, 
while her face betrayed the deep feeling. In 
a few minutes more she had stolen away 
from the sick-bed to her own room. She 
threw herself upon her knees, and for the 
first time in her life prayed with conscious 
reality that the precious life might be spared. 
When she came back to the room, darkness 
was gathering outside — ay, and within, upon 
the mother’s heart. 

Mrs. Van Sant sat just where Susan left 
her, watching the shadows that were stealing 
over the face of her sleeping child. She 
looked up earnestly into the face of the inex- 
perienced girl, hoping to read some comfort 
there. She saw the traces of tears, of which 
her heart told her too surely the cause, and 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


327 


in an agony of grief she stole softly away to 
wrestle and pray for the only support under 
this crushing woe. Mrs. Van Sant made no 
sign of grief before the child, but with a heart 
strong to suffer she bore a brave, cheerful 
face always. Everything was done to amuse 
and please the little girl; for though the 
mother knew how vain would be all their ef- 
forts to keep her with them, yet she went on 
trying to delude herself with the hope that 
it yet might be. 

Edith left her play and came to spend 
all her idle hours with her cousin, but the 
child loved best to have all others away save 
her mother and Susan. She was restless if 
either of these left her, but with them near 
she would lie quiet through the long hours, 
talking now and then, but answering their 
loving questions for the most part by smiles 
instead of words ; the words seemed to weary 
her. 

Christmas was coming on apace now, and 
Edith each day brought to her cousin an 


328 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


account of all the preparations that were 
being made at home for the approaching fes- 
tival. 

Mrs. Van Sant was listening to Edith, who, 
in her childish thoughtlessness of Elsie’s 
danger, imagined that a very few more days 
would find her well, and especially did she 
believe that no sickness would be potent 
enough to take away the enjoyment of 
Christmas. 

‘‘ You know you are to have a Christmas 
tree along with me this year, cousin,” said 
Edith. asked mother if we could not, 
and she said, ‘To be sure ; whatever we have 
Elsie must share.’ ” 

Elsie’s face brightened, as it did now al- 
most every time she spoke. She murmured 
softly, 

“ How good you all are to me ! Aunt 
Wolberton is always thinking of what would 
give me pleasure.” 

“ I am afaid, darling,” said Mrs. Van Sant, 
troubled lest the child should set her mind 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


329 


upon such an impossibility as Edith spoke of — 
‘‘ I am afraid that you will hardly be strong 
enough for that. We must plan something 
different for you. What shall it be, love? 
Last year, you know, when we were in 
Dresden, w^e had a German Christmas-time. 
Shall I try to have it over the same way 
here, and have Edith and Max come to 
share it with us ?” 

No, mamma,” said Elsie; ‘G think I shall 
have a different one. I will tell you what I 
mean by and by.” 

The weary head sank lower into the pil- 
lows, and Edith was softly banished while 
Elsie slept. 

It was Christmas eve, but there were no 
preparations for merrymaking in the cottage. 
Beside the little bed sat two watchers pale 
and worn with intense feeling. Mrs. Wol- 
berton came and went, doing all that she 
could, for it was evident that little Elsie’s 
hours were numbered ; but the mother sat 
gazing at her darling, lost to all around her. 


330 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


The eyes unclosed, and Elsie looked into 
her mother’s face as if coming back to her- 
self with a great effort. 

What is it, darling ?” said the mother. 

‘‘ When will it he Christmas eve, mamma?” 

‘‘This is Christmas eve, dearest. I did 
not know you cared so much. I could not 
make preparations while you were so ill, 
love.” 

“No, not that ; I thought you knew. This 
one is different.” 

The mother gave a cry of grief and buried 
her face beside her darling, her heart filled 
with one wild prayer to God to spare her 
child. 

Elsie looked up into Susan’s face with a 
tender, appealing gaze that she should do 
something to calm and comfort her mother, 
but Susan had no comfort for any one. 

The tiny hands moved caressingly over 
her mother’s hair, until at last Mrs. Van 
Sant looked up with some self-control and 
said. 


SUSAN’S SERVICE. 


331 


“ Tell me, darling ! How is this one to be 
different ?’’ 

‘‘Because, mamma” — and the trembling 
voice sank lower, as if to soften the pain — 
“mamma darling, I am going away from 
you.” 

The blow had been received before, and 
Mrs. Van Sant was able now to choke back 
the sobs as she said, 

“ Are you afraid to go, darling ?” 

“ Oh no, mamma ; Christ died to save 
Elsie, and he has gone to prepare a place 
for me.” 

There were no words after that. The 
child ^s innocent trust needed no help from 
the mother. Again the tired head pressed 
heavily upon the pillows. Elsie slept. 

Fainter and more softly came the breath, 
while the two sat almost motionless watching 
to see her wake. But Elsie was to have a 
waking they knew not of. Hers was indeed 
a happy Christmas. 

It was such a little life, only nine years, 


332 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


but not without its fruits ; and it may be that 
this child-angel was especially sent to minis- 
ter to the soul of Susan Savage, and to lead 
her to Christ and his love. 


CHAPTER XVII. 
SUSAN’S FALL. 


“ If thou reject us, who shall give 
Our fainting spirits strength to live? 

’Tis thine alone to spare. 

With cleansed hearts to pray aright, 
And find acceptance in thy sight, 

Be this our lowly prayer.” 




'RS. VAN SANT, despairing and 
stunned at her loss, could not bear 
to stay in the cottage. She was im- 
pelled to go she hardly knew whith- 
er. She clung to Susan and included her 
in any plan she made ; but when at length 
she decided to go to Europe, Mrs. Savage 
could not be brought to yield consent that 
Susan should go so far away from her. 

Susan could hardly have told what she 
wished most for herself. Elsie was a tender 


memory that would live in her heart always, 

333 


334 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


and for her sake, as well as her own devotion 
to Mrs. Van Sant, she would have been glad 
to take the journey. But with it all mother- 
love was strongest, and she yielded to the de- 
cision without one word of dissent. She 
stayed on at the cottage until all the prep- 
arations for departure were complete. The 
furniture had been sent away, and Mrs. Van 
Sant stood in the desolate sitting-room, wait- 
ing till Susan should close the house and be 
ready to say good-bye. 

“ I am through now, ma’am,’’ said Susan. 
“May I walk with you to Mr. Wolberton’s? 
Don’t you think it would have been better if 
you had let them do what they wanted and 
shut up this house for you ? I’m thinking 
it’s been more than you can stand.” 

“ It was right for me to do it,” said Mrs. 
Van Sant. “ I have as hard a trial in parting 
with you as any of the sorrow to-day’s work 
cost me. I want you to remember that for 
my darling’s sake, as well as my own, I shall 
always be ready to serve you. In what- 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


335 


ever sorrow you may be, believe that I shall 
always be glad to sympathize with you and 
give you all the relief in my power.” 

Mrs. Van Sant bent over and kissed the 
tearful face beside her, and then, putting her 
veil hastily over her face, hurried along the 
lane, leaving Susan to go home alone. 

Susan was at home once more. For a few 
weeks, under the softening influence of the 
scenes through which she had passed, she was 
so patient and loving that one might well 
have wondered whether any root of the old 
bitterness was left to spring up and bear 
fruit. But Susan had many a hard struggle 
before her, and many a sad defeat too, ere 
she should come to the knowledge of what is 
meant by a truly contrite heart and trusting 
faith. Seeking after God in the days that 
followed Elsie’s death, she yet had not fully 
felt her own weakness and her need of his 
help. She did not then remember all her 
besetments or think how many stumbling- 
blocks she had found in the way. In the 


336 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


awe that the death of the dear little one had 
caused her she had been lifted out of the 
common affairs of life, and she did not un- 
derstand how readily the petty worries and 
vexations would have power to overcome her 
again. 

Like George in his first acquaintance with 
the Wolbertons, so Susan now began to draw 
unpleasant comparisons between the plainness 
and poverty of her home and the exquisite 
refinement and beauty of the one in which 
she had passed these few weeks. Under a 
rude and unattractive exterior the girl hid a 
keen appreciation of the beautiful, and she 
missed at every turn the luxuries which, in 
her peculiar service for Elsie, she had so con- 
stantly shared. 

Instead of looking upon it as George did, 
and seeking by her own efforts to supply the 
many refinements which are within the reach 
of all, she nursed her discontent until at last 
it found vent as of old in angry words and 
unkind actions. From covetousness in the 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


337 


matter of dress Susan turned to anxiety 
about the adornments of their humble home. 

George brought home one day his first 
real picture. Mr. Warrington commended 
it much, and from this praise George turned 
as anxiously to hear what his mother would 
say. Of course both she and Susan looked 
upon it as a rare work of art, and wanted to 
have it hung up in the most conspicuous 
place in the front room. 

George was not unwilling, and in his spare 
moments he made a frame. When they 
came to put it up, Susan’s discontent ap- 
peared ; the picture was spoiled, she said, by 
hanging against such a rough whitewashed 
wall ; it only made the room look worse. 

“ I do wonder whether Mr. Wolberton 
ever means to do anything with these old 
shanties?” she said. ‘‘I don’t believe he 
would care if they were to tumble down over 
our heads.” 

There is nothing the matter with the 

house that I can see,” said Mrs. Savage. 

22 


338 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


‘‘ You must not be all the time comparing it 
with the home of a rich woman like Mrs. 
Van Sant. I think it is all very comfort- 
able, and suited to our station also.” 

Susan did not now, as in the old days, 
make rude replies to her mother, but she 
was far from perfect yet. She went back 
and forth through the room, moving the pic- 
ture impatiently from place to place, not 
willing to do without it, yet vexed to see how 
little it added to the room in the way of im- 
provement. 

She came out of her bad temper at last, 
and her good humor was so far restored that 
she called George to see how well the picture 
looked. He said she had chosen the very 
best place in the room for it, and that he was 
prouder than ever of his work now that he 
saw it on the wall. 

This was all Susan needed to make her 
quite amiable again. They both stood and 
admired it for a while, and then went into 
the next room to sit down for the evening. 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


339 


It was not usual now for George to be with 
them in the evenings. He was studying all 
the time, preparing for the June examina- 
tion, which was to decide the question of 
graduation. He had earned a holiday for 
these few hours, he said, by some extra work, 
and he meant to pass the evening in idleness. 

Before they had been together long, some- 
thing brought about the mention of Jane 
Skinner’s name, and then, by one of those 
strange occurrences which almost seem to bear 
the stamp of fate, they fell to talking of 
Jane’s visit with the small Sam that night. 

‘‘ Isn’t it curious,” said George, how we 
forgot all about that thing, after letting it 
worry us as it did at first ? Have you the 
old copy-book yet, mother ?” 

I suppose so,” she said. I have never 
thought of looking for it from that day to 
this.” 

“I can find it,” said Susan. ‘'Don’t you 
know I put it away that time ? I thought 
something dreadful was going to happen to 


340 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


US all for it, and I thought I’d leave it where 
it could not easily be found. I mean to go 
and look.” 

Taking the candle, she went to her moth- 
er’s room and brought down the old source 
of so much discomfort. When she returned 
they all looked over it with a great deal of 
curiosity. 

“ I couldn’t be convicted on that now- 
adays,” said George. ‘‘ My handwriting is 
totally different. I could not do that if I 
wore to try.” 

“ Did you ever tell Mr. Wolberton ?” said 
Susan. 

I have never thought of it,” said George. 
‘‘ You remember how sick he was, and then 
he went away, and by the time he came 
back it had stopped troubling me. I forgot 
all about it.” 

You will tell him now ?” said Susan. 

Why, no,” said George ; I don’t see the 
use. If I were talking with him any time, 
and found a good chance, I should ; but it’s 


SUSA^^’S FALL. 


341 


only making a mountain out of a mole-bill, 
according to my thinking.” 

In a few minutes the subject was dropped, 
and they talked of other things until bed- 
time. 

When Susan went up to her room, she 
carried her apron full of the stockings she 
had been sewing during the evening. Along 
with them she had unconsciously gathered 
the old copy-book. She dropped her burden 
into a basket at her feet, and as she did so 
the book fell out from amongst them, open- 
ing at the old place. 

She took it in her hand as innocently as 
she had done down stairs, when suddenly 
it came to her, with overpowering force: 
<< Why not take this down to the mill and 
get the money for yourself? The clerk 
never would suspect that it was not all right. 
Mr. Wolberton wouldn’t miss it from amongst 
his thousands.” From that she fell to think- 
ing how unjustly the world was arranged. 
That fifty dollars would be such a fortune to 


342 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


them, and of so little moment to Mr. Wol- 
berton. Susan shuddered at what she had 
dared to think, and putting the book down 
hastily made ready for bed. The evil was 
banished for a while, for as she slept and 
dreamed of having carried out her wish she 
awoke shuddering with horror, yet thankful 
that she was innocent, and that it was only a 
dream. 

She went about her work next day with a 
strange sense of relief, feeling that she had 
been dragged, as it were, from the very verge 
of a precipice. Nevertheless, she suffered the 
thought to stay in her mind of how pleasant 
a thing it would be if they could have that 
much money. How easy from that thought 
to go back by slow degrees to the old one 
that it was no more than they really ought to 
have! Like Eve, she was listening to the 
serpent’s voice. 

Susan could not have told even to herself 
how it was that she looked upon the sin 
until at length it lost its enormity. When 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


343 


she came back to. the old notion that if she 
took it no one would find her out, she began 
to realize that her mother would know that 
she had money. I can tell her Mrs. Van 
Sant sent it to me,’’ said Susan, if I can only 
manage to make her believe that I did really 
get it that way.” Yielding thus to the 
tempter, Susan began to lose her qualms of 
conscience, and set to work to find some way 
to gratify her longings. 

I wish I could go to town,” she said to 
her mother some days afterward. 

You would get lost,” said Mrs. Savage. 

Indeed, I should have no peace of mind all 
the time you were gone.” 

‘‘ I am sure I could find my way. Do let 
me go with George to-morrow.” 

What for ?” said Mrs. Savage. 

‘'Just for fun. I never go anywhere. 
George goes to town every day, and you 
don’t worry about him. You might let me 
try once. I never will learn to take care of 
myself if you don’t give me a chance.” 


344 LEAVES AND FRUIT. 

“ Wait till George comes*,” said Mrs. Sav- 
age. I’ll see what he says about taking 
you around. It’s the last day of school this 
year ; maybe he will have time.” 

George came in while they were speaking. 

“ Oh yes, mother, do let her go ! To-mor- 
row is the last day of the examination ; and 
when I’m through, I shall know pretty near- 
ly how I stand, and then I can meet her at 
the art gallery, and take her for a walk. 
It will be splendid. Mr. Warrington gave 
me two tickets for the exhibition, and I was 
thinking you would let her go.” 

Susan began to falter in her purpose to do 
wrong. She would go to town, but it should 
he with a clear conscience. 

How will you manage about taking her 
in with you if you are going to school ?” said 
Mrs. Savage. 

Easily,” replied George : I will leave 
her at the art gallery to look at the pic- 
tures till I get off from school.” 

And so it might have been. But what 


SUSAN^S FALL. 


345 


trivial, insignificant things influence the 
whole course of our lives sometimes ! Susan 
went to her room fully resolved to destroy 
the miserable paper and free herself from 
temptation, but as she pulled out her drawer 
to take it the faded lawn dress, the best she 
owned, set her once more to thinking that 
she must have something new. The old 
temptation came back with greater force, and 
Susan went to bed in the full determination 
to have the money. 

She was dressed for her trip before she 
came down next morning ; but when break- 
fast was on the table, she was missing. A 
few minutes later she came in all breathless, 
as if she had been running, but at that 
moment a neighbor dropped in to borrow 
something, and Susan escaped being ques- 
tioned. 

George took her to the picture-gallery 
when they reached the city, and after pla- 
cing her where he thought she would be 
amused both with the pictures and people. 


346 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


he left her, promising to return at the first 
moment he could. 

Don’t go wandering off and get lost if 
you get tired of waiting for me,” he said. 

He was gone, and as soon as Susan felt 
convinced that he was out of sight she 
turned away without one look at the beauty 
around her to hurry on to the fulfillment of 
her desires. She wandered through the 
fashionable streets watching the gay throngs 
of people, but her heart was heavy with a 
sense of guilt such as she had never before 
known. The handsome dresses, so tempt- 
ingly displayed in the shop windows, had no 
charm for her now. She would have given 
all she had ever owned to know that the fifty 
dollars the clerk in the mill had so unsus- 
pectingly given her was safely back where it 
belonged. Remorse for her sin filled her 
with wretchedness; but she was not truly 
penitent. If she could only plan some way 
to get it back without confessing her crime, 
she would go to the art gallery and wait for 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


347 


George, and try to restore it. There was no 
chance to do this now, and then the miserable 
consciousness came that she had severed her- 
self from all whom she held dear in the 
world for the paltry sum of fifty dollars. 

Her belief that her detection was certain 
was as strong now as the feeling of security 
had been before. She never could go home 
again. At this thought the sense of desola- 
tion drove her nearly frantic. She walked 
on for miles, almost fainting with fatigue, but 
ever with the conviction pressing upon her 
that henceforth in the wide world she would 
never find a resting-place. Her mind went 
back to George. She fancied how he would 
look for her through the long rooms, and 
what he would think of her disappearance. 
She wondered whether he would go home, or 
whether he would search for her through the 
city. Then she thought of her mother, and 
of all the woe and misery this act of hers 
would bring upon them all. 

“ At all events,” she said to herself, I 


348 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


shall never go home again to disgrace them. 
Neither will I ever spend a cent of the 
money, if I starve.” 

Here and there lights were beginning to 
appear in the streets, and still she wandered 
on, though the prospect of darkness in the 
great city was appalling to her. She was 
away upon the outskirts of the city. The 
houses were farther and farther apart now. 
The open lots she had to pass looked far 
more fearsome in the gathering gloom than 
ever she had thought the woods of Wingo- 
hocken to be. Before her was a large man- 
sion whose broad steps offered her a resting- 
place. She sat down. 

A voice within said, Come to me now, 
Elsie. You cannot see anything from the 
wundows.” 

“Yes, mamma; I’m coming.” 

Susan heard a patter of light feet and the 
low, musical laugh of the child as she has- 
tened to obey. She did not see this Elsie, 
but the name brought back tender memories 


SUSAN’S FALL, 


349 


of purity and peace. The wretched girl 
went back to the child whose whole life 
had been love and service to God. She had 
thought, when Elsie went away, that her own 
life would be given to God. It was scarcely 
six months ago, and what was she ? Worse 
than the meanest. 

‘‘Nothing can be worse than this,’^ she 
said to herself. “I will go home and tell 
W’hat I have done, and let them do with me 
as they will.’’ 

She rose up, but she had no idea of the 
direction she must take. Everybody passed 
by in a hurry, and there was no one whom 
she dared to ask. Her steps were very slow 
now, for fatigue was getting the mastery of 
her. She came in sight of a railroad d4p6t ; 
and with a faint hope that this might be the 
one to lead her home, she entered. 

There was nothing by which she could 
know what place it was, and she waited with 
trembling eagerness to hear what people 
should say, or, better than that, to find some 


350 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


one whom she dared to ask. A train came 
steaming in at the oj^posite end of the d4p5t, 
and in another moment the place was filled 
with people hurrying out of the cars to the 
carriages waiting at the sidewalk. Then she 
heard some one say, 

How soon does the next train go to New 
York?” 

Sick at heart, she turned away to begin 
her dismal search again. A lady in mourn- 
ing passed her, hurrying after a porter who 
was carrying her traveling-bag. Her dress 
caught upon some obstruction at the same 
moment. Involuntarily, Susan reached out 
her hand to release it, while the lady turned 
and thrust her veil aside, impatient to be free 
as quickly as possible. 

A cry burst from Susan’s lips : Dear 
Mrs. Van Sant ! Did God send you here to- 
night?” 

Mrs. Van Sant, hardly less surprised and 
moved, put her arms around Susan’s neck 
and kissed her fondly. She drew her into 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


351 


the carriage with her, where the wretched 
girl poured out her story of sin and disgrace. 

Please take the money into your hands,” 
she said, ‘‘ where I shall never have to touch 
it again.” 

Mrs. Van Sant called the driver, and gave 
orders that he should take them out to Win- 
gohocken instead of going to the hotel in 
the city where she had meant to pass the 
night. 

The drive was long, but after Susan had 
told her story she did not speak again. Mrs. 
Van Sant spoke to her in tender, pitiful 
words that went straight to her heart, show- 
ing her sinfulness to her more pungently 
than severity could have done. 

Mr. Wolberton and his wife were bewil- 
dered at the appearance at so late an hour 
of two such unexpected guests. Mrs. Van 
Sant's letter announcing her coming had 
gone astray, so that in the surprise and joy 
of welcoming her they never thought of 
connecting Susan with it. 


352 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


When Susan first drew attention to herself 
by some incoherent words to Mr. Wolberton, 
he looked at her as if half believing that 
she was insane. 

Mrs. Van Sant had to come to her assist- 
ance and tell the sad story,' which she did 
as tenderly as possible. 

Mr. Wolberton could not bear to see a 
child suffer so acutely as it w^as evident Susan 
did. He dismissed the subject in a few 
words, and then turned to talk with his 
sister. 

Mrs. Van Sant was deeply grieved that 
Mr. Wolberton should have acted so unwisely 
toward the girl. Fearing that Susan would 
be led to think that her sin was of slight 
moment, she added a few words of loving yet 
earnest admonition, and then sent her in the 
carriage alone to her mother’s house. 

At the first sound of the wheels Mrs. Sav- 
age was at the door, and clasping Susan in 
her arms exclaimed, 

‘‘ How did you get lost ? My poor child !” 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


353 


Then, remembering the time, she said, 
“ Where have you come from ? There is no 
train in now.” 

“ No, mother. I have something to tell 
you that will nearly kill you, I know.” 

She then told of her sin, concealing noth- 
ing, beginning with the night when the 
temptation first came upon her. The mother 
sat down and looked helplessly at her child, as 
though all the light of her life had gone out. 

‘‘Oh, Susan, would to God you had died 
before you came to do this thing] How 
shall I ever have strength to bear it? To 
think of a child of mine being a thief T 

It was a stricken household that sat watch- 
ing the gray dawn stealing through the win- 
dows of that dreary room. Ever since 
George had heard what Susan had to say he 
had sat with bowed head, neither speaking 
nor moving. Equally silent, she buried her 
face in the cushions of the old settee. 

Only Mrs. Savage kept up a nervous 

walk through the two rooms. 

2 ?, 


354 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


When tlie morning came, George rose up 
from his seat. Susan sprang from the settee 
at the same time and caught him by the 
liand, while she stopped her mother in her 
restless walk. 

‘‘ Will you have no mercy on me she 
cried. I know there is no excuse to make, 
but indeed, indeed, I cannot bear this mis- 
ery any longer unless you love me again. 

George threw his arms around her, and 
the three stood clasped close together. She 
belonged to them ; they must shield her and 
love her, let come what might. There were 
no words. Susan knew that nothing could 
be said to make the sin any less. It was best 
so. They had shown her that they meant to 
help her. She must do the rest, and go with 
her burden to Him who could remove it. 

After that morning there never was any 
more mention made of it, but for many a 
weary day Mrs. Savage went through her 
household duties in a listless way that showed 
how great a blight had fallen upon her spirit. 


SUSAN’S FALL. 


355 


Mrs. Van Sant came to them very soon 
and begged to take Susan to her new home 
in the city. Mrs. Savage consented, only 
too thankful that there was some one who 
knew all, and who yet was willing to believe 
in her daughter’s repentance. 

And here our narrative leaves Susan. 
Under Mrs. Van Sant’s careful Christian 
training, deeply penitent for her sin, she 
learned that God never yet despised a broken 
and a contrite heart or turned from one truly 
penitent. The seeds of faith that Elsie’s 
trust, under God, had implanted, grew to 
bear the rich and glorious fruit of love and 
dependence upon Him who knoweth our 
necessities before we ask, as well as our 
ignorance in asking, and who will supply 
more than we desire or deserve. 


CHAPTER Xyill. 

THE END. 

“He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth 
forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing.” 

NSTEAD of going to the city the next 
da}^ to learn the result of the exami- 
nation, George hid himself in his own 
room. That all Wingohocken knew 
by this time of their disgrace he never 
thought of questioning. Several of the 
neighbors to whom Mrs. Savage had gone in 
her terror the evening before when George 
hurried home, in his first vain search to see 
whether Susan had found her way back, 
began to come over in the morning to see 
whether the girl was found. They gossiped 
afterward most steadily about Mrs. Savage’s 
altered manner, which told very plainly that 
there was more in Susan’s disappearance 
than they had yet heard. 

356 



THE END. 


357 


But they had no clue to the real meaning. 
The clerk at the mill, who imagined he had 
the key to it, had all his suspicions set at rest 
by Mr. Wolberton’s manner. 

‘‘ I cashed that order of fifty dollars for 
Susan Savage yesterday morning, sir,^’ said 
the clerk, eyeing the proprietor sharply. 

Yes,’’ said Mr. Wolberton, indifferently, 

I know you did.” 

I’m glad I didn’t hint my suspicions to 
anybody,” murmured the clerk to himself. 

It’s quite clear there’s nothing wrong that 
way.” 

Mrs. Savage came to find George after a 
time and tell him how many of the neigh- 
bors had been in, and that no one seemed to 
know anything yet. ^‘Do you think,” she 
added, “ that Mr. Wolberton will keep quiet 
about it ?” 

Maybe he will,” said George, to the 
mill-people ; but Max will know it, and that 
is worse.” 

‘‘ We are ruined every way now. There is 


358 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


notliing to do but pack up our things and 
take the plan we thought of long ago of 
moving away where nobody knows us.” 

‘‘ Thanks to Mr. Wolberton, I can make a 
living anywhere now, and I will prove to 
him yet that dishonesty isn’t in our blood, or 
ingratitude, either. I’ll go to him after dark 
and tell it all, and to-morrow I will go off to 
town and try to find something to do.” 

In the midst of this despondency George 
heard Max’s voice below stairs calling out. 
Where’s George ? Was he sick to-day ? 
I never was so disappointed in my life,” he 
continued as George appeared. Then, as he 
caught sight of his face, he stopped. 

Why, you are sick,” he went on to say, 
with concern in his voice. I don’t wonder, 
though. All I am surprised at is that you 
are alive to tell the tale after the way you 
worked.” 

“ Could it be,” thought Mrs. Savage, “ that 
Max too was ignorant of what had happen- 
ed ?” Her doubts were at rest directly, when, 


THE END. 


359 , 


before going on with what he had to tell, he 
said, abruptly, 

“ You found your sister at last, I suppose? 
I thought you had all your scare for noth- 
ing,” he added as he saw Susan in the kitchen. 
‘‘Now, old fellow, make ready for three 
cheers. IVe been a good while getting at 
the news, but it’s coming now. Hip, hip, 
hurrah ! You graduated number one.” 

“ Ahead of everybody ?” 

“ Yes, head and shoulders.” 

“ And you .^” 

“ Somewhere about the middle of the class — 
eight, I believe. After the first two or three 
names I never think it is worth while to 
keep account. What made you stay away 
to-day, even if you were sick ? The fellows 
were all disappointed.” 

“ There never was anybody like you in all 
the world,” said George. “ You are just as 
glad for me as I am for myself.” 

“Why, to be sure,” said Max in some 
surprise. “You earned it hard enough. 


360 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


Why shouldn’t I be glad ? Graves was 
awfully disappointed that you didn’t get 
there. I think you spoiled his speech by not 
coining. I stopped at home before I came 
here and told father about you, and that I 
was coming now to tell you. He was quite 
provoked himself that you hadn’t been there 
to-day — of course, he didn’t know you were 
sick — and he said I should tell you to come 
to him ; he wanted you.” 

Seeing George’s troubled face, he added, 
You needn’t think I meant that he was 
really mad at you, but I know he would 
have liked it better if you had not stayed 
away. Indeed, he is so much displeased at 
my failure that there is no room for anger 
at you.” 

Oh, Max, how sorry I am ! After all, 
there is no use in believing in examinations, 
for I am sure you know far more than I do.” 

“ There’s no use for me to try to smooth 
it down to myself that way,” said Max. 
When Graves said that ‘ figures did not 


THE END. 


361 


lie/ I felt that he was right. That average 
tells the truth about my wasted time and want 
of perseverance. I have thought so many 
times before, that certain things that hap- 
pened to me would prove to be the lesson I 
needed to make me mend my ways — but I 
am as hr off as ever, so that I am afraid to 
say that I am going to profit by this one. 
I’m afraid I shall go on this way always, and 
call it failure in the end. I need to have 
somebody with me to stir me up all the time. 
Not that I do very much better then, but 
still I try more.” 

Now that Max had begun to talk of him- 
self, he went on lamenting his mistakes and 
failures. 

I believe Dr. Burrough kept me up to 
the mark more than anybody,” said Max. 
‘‘ Do you remember how he shamed me out 
of my neglect of the Sunday-school? I 
never would have had the courage to give up 
my place there if he had been here.” (The 
doctor had gone abroad for his health the 


362 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


summer before.) What I shall say to him 
when he comes back for this and all the 
rest I am sure I don’t know.” 

George was grieved at Max’s failure, but 
he had his own sorrow to brood over, and that 
kept him silent. 

‘‘ Come, go with me now,” said Max, at last. 
‘‘ I must be at home.” 

George faltered. Then, with his face set 
in steady determination to nerve himself for 
the interview, he reached for his hat and 
went out with Max without another word. 

Max was perfectly bewildered by George’s 
manner. It was a new thing for George to 
have moods or be other than bright and 
cheerful. 

Mrs. Wolberton’s cordial greeting was very 
reassuring to the lad, but his heart beat with 
a nervous dread as he walked on alone to 
Mr. Wolberton in the library. He closed 
the door behind him at Mr. Wolberton’s bid- 
ding, and then, turning hastily lest his heart 
should fail, he began to tell of the way in 


THE END, 


363 


which he had come to write the order for the 
fifty dollars. 

“ Stuff and nonsense!’’ said Mr. Wolberton, 
hastily. ‘‘ I do not want to talk of that. 
Your sister is punished sufficiently already 
for her share in it ; and as for you, I suppose 
you have had your lesson in imitating other 
people’s handwriting. I never want the 
matter mentioned again. You are to act and 
feel toward me precisely as though it had 
never occurred.” 

‘‘ How shall I ever repay you for all this 
goodness ?” 

I am more than paid already,” was the 
reply, ‘4n hearing what I do of the place 
you have made for yourself in school by 
your industry. Mr. Warrington and my- 
self have been forming plans for your future, 
and now you are to have the deciding vote. 
I meant to say nothing to influence your 
choice, but I am so sure that you will not 
decide as I wish unless I state some of my 
reasons that I will put the question before 


364 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


you very plainly. Mr. Warrington is a rich 
man, and so am I, so that what we do for 
you must not be measured by what it costs, 
but by our will and ability to do it. Max 
is to pursue his studies and become a civil 
engineer. We mean to do the same for you.’’ 

‘‘ You do so much for me that I have no 
words left to tell you what I think of it all,” 
said George, but indeed I must not go on 
this way any longer. Thanks to you, I am 
better able to work than I ever dared to hope, 
and now I must begin to repay some of the 
obligation.” 

‘‘ The other plan,” said Mr. Wolberton, 
without heeding George’s remonstrance, ‘Gs 
the one which I suppose you will be most 
eager to agree to. Mr. Warrington has the 
promise of a situation for you in a large com- 
mission house on the wharf The salary is a 
fair one, and the prospect of advancement is 
good.” 

‘‘ How could there be any other choice 
than this for me, Mr. Wolberton ?” 


THE END, 


365 


“ Exactly what I expected/’ was the reply ; 
‘‘ but now I must tell you the reason for my 
setting my wishes upon the other. You 
know how much I have encouraged your 
intimacy with Max and desired to have your 
example constantly before him to stimulate 
him to work. I put my plan before you now 
in the light of a request, and I ask you, for 
my sake, to pursue your studies with Max, 
and to aid him by your influence and exam- 
ple. I may be morbid about him, and think 
him different from other boys of his age 
when it is not so. But everything he has 
undertaken so far has been a failure, and 
that, so far as I can discover, from no want 
of talent. For me will you work with him 
and help him ?” 

If you put it in that way, Mr. Wolber- 
ton, I have no choice but to do as you say ; 
but ought I not to be working for my mother 
and the rest of them ?” 

‘‘There is a plan for them too. I am 
going to ask your mother to come and live 


366 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


in the cottage, to take care of it this winter, 
and in the spring, when the new clergyman 
comes, she will keep house for him. Mrs. 
Van Sant is going to take Susan with her to 
the city, so that there will only he left your 
mother and the little ones.” 

“ Shall I ever, I wonder, do anything to 
prove to you how grateful I am for all your 
kindness, Mr. Wolberton ?” 

‘‘No one can ever doubt your gratitude, 
George. Some of these days, when your 
energy makes you accomplish great things 
and you begin to be famous, I shall come in 
too for my share, as the one who discovered 
the latent talent and helped you on to 
success.” 

Mr. Wolberton was laughing, but George 
was too earnest to take part in it. He turned 
away to hide the tears, and then said, 

“ Do with me what you will, sir. I shall 
do my best.” 

George hurried away ; and how light heart- 
ed would he have been could the memory of 


THE END. 


367 


the last night have been for ever blotted out ! 
But sins committed leave their scars ; a sor- 
row in which so much disgrace is mingled 
makes a wound that is slow to heal. All the 
boyish lightness and gayety was gone from 
his manner^ but in its stead was a manly 
acceptance of the burdens of life and a brave 
heart to bear them in the strength that God 
can and will give to those that trust in him. 

Here, on the verge of a new career, I must 
leave him. If Max’s failure or George’s suc- 
cess shall serve as a lesson to any of the read- 
ers of their history, my purpose is gained. 
I have tried to show in George’s successful 
life what may be accomplished by steadfast 
application, and again, I have sought by Max’s 
failure to show that the greatest opportuni- 
ties and abilities may be useless if unaccom- 
panied by application, and will render the 
want of success all the more painful. 

Every tree is known by his fruit.” If, 
then, you would bring forth fruit worthy of 


368 


LEAVES AND FRUIT. 


the gifts with which you have been endowed, 
lose no opportunity, waste no golden moment, 
for ‘‘ every one of us shall give account of 
himself to God.” 

May it not be said of you, as of the fig 
tree in the parable, ‘‘When the Master 
came to look thereon, he found 

“nothing but leaves.” 


THE END. 




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